


Tea and Crumpets

by DareDreemer, Xenobia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Abuse, Angst, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lemon, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Triggers, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 200,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DareDreemer/pseuds/DareDreemer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day while wandering around London pondering the events of his life, Grell Sutcliff has an unfortunate run-in with a bucket of black paint—courtesy of the Undertaker.  It soon turns into an encounter neither of them are likely to forget. Yaoi, Het, <b>TRIGGER WARNING</b> (Mental and sexual abuse) *note* This project will not be completed, but finished chapters will still be uploaded.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was to be a one shot, but quickly took on a life of its own. Written RP-style. This is an ongoing RP and shall be updated as new chapters become available.
> 
> **DareDreemer:**  
>  Grell Sutcliff  
> Sebastian Michaelis  
> Lloyd Garrison - Thanatos (OC)  
> Celeste Grimm (OC)  
> Moira Anderson - Atropos (OC)
> 
> ** Xenobia:**  
> Undertaker - Khronos  
> Ronald Knox  
> Lawrence Anderson - Moros  
> Eric Slingby  
> Alan Humphries
> 
> **Trade offs:**  
>  Doctor Wilhelm Wundt - Hypnos (OC)  
> William T. Spears  
> Ciel Phantomhive
> 
> **Editor:** Xenobia  
>  **Post Proof:** DareDreemer
> 
> **Soundtrack:**  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZv_BmLvUi2TapuXwhyVec-hSrl72aj9z)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/1265279697/playlist/4fpigVqvpLSumA6br1LskB)
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. We make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> **Note from DareDreemer:**  
>  Wilhelm Wundt, this original character was inspired by the real Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt (16 August 1832 – 31 August 1920) . A German physician, psychologist, physiologist, philosopher, and professor, known today as one of the founding figures of modern psychology.
> 
> When searching for the name of our villain I did a general search for names of Psychologists. The first name to pop up was, Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt. Our villain is inspired, only in name, alongside occupation and land of birth. All other aspects of his life were made up for our story. To read and learn more about the real Doctor Wundt, this incredible and inspiring figure of psychological medicine, please visit: [Wikipedia, Wilhelm Wundt](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10159285/1/Tea-and-Crumpets)  
> or general search his name in any online search engine.
> 
> **Also Can be read at:**  
>  **DeviantArt:** [DareDreemer](http://daredreemer.deviantart.com/gallery/47633486)  
>  **FanFiction.net:** [Undertaker's Madness](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10159285/1/Tea-and-Crumpets)  
> 

Cover Art by 

        **[fallnangeltears](http://fallnangeltears.deviantart.com/) ** aka  **[reapergrellsutcliff](http://reapergrellsutcliff.tumblr.com/)**

 

 

He sat precariously perched on the very edge of his shop's roof, whistling and singing a sea shanty as he retouched the paint on his sign.  People passing by on the street stopped to stare up at the eccentric mortician, wondering how in the world the man could so easily squat there, unconcerned with the drop beneath him.  His long silver hair blew in the wind, and he smiled happily as he worked.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest," he crooned, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum..."

He paused when he saw a small group of people looking up at him, and he tipped his hat to them.  "Afternoon," he greeted with a toothy grin.

They hastily departed.

Shrugging, Undertaker resumed his task, whistling the simple tune he'd gotten attached to since reading "Treasure Island".

He got so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice a certain flamboyant redhead coming his way from the opposite side of the street.

 

* * *

  
  
Grell walked slowly down the London street, his mind a million miles away as he day-dreamed about the demon he had just crossed paths with, once again.  Oh, he was a handsome devil all right, tall, slender.  Grell's knees turned to jelly every time he was near the blasted beast.  He knew the demon didn't share the attraction, but the redhead loved to play chase and so he played the game every time he laid eyes upon him.  He loved watching him get frustrated every time he flirted with him.  
  
What he wouldn't give to win his adoration, but still, a demon was a demon and Grell was a reaper.  Will, his boss, would have his head if he ever got involved with such a creature...but then again, Will never had to know.  He smiled at the thought as he crossed the quiet street.  He never imagined that he was about to be covered in blackness.  
  
A startled cry and a clanking noise had Grell looking up, just as a splash of black paint rained down upon him, covering him from head to toe.  
  
Undertaker didn't quite make his grab for the bucket in time and he looked down as it tumbled off the roof.  Seeing a hapless pedestrian standing there, looking like he'd been tarred and awaited feathering, he grimaced.  
  
"Whoopsie.  Are you all right, down there?"  
  
Grell looked up, his gaze falling onto the haphazard old mortician.  "You!" he growled, his eyes narrowing, "do I _look_ fine to you?  You...you crazy old loon!  I am covered in paint! _Black_ paint, no less!"  
  
He looked down.  His clothes were ruined.  His hair felt heavy and sticky.  Slowly, he lifted his hand to the back of his head, pulling his hair over his shoulder.  Tears welled up in his eyes.  
  
"My _hair_!" he cried out.  
  
The shopkeeper jumped down lightly.  He couldn't for the death of him recognize the soggy black mess that stood before him, but he recognized the girlish, dramatic voice.  
  
"Oh dear," murmured Undertaker, and he beamed a smile at him.  "Mr. Sutcliff!  I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't tell my paint to land on you."  
  
Unmindful of the goopy sludge dripping from the poor Dispatch agent, he took Grell's hand and started to drag him toward the door to his shop.  "Come along, love," he offered, "we'll get you cleaned up in a jiffy."  
  
"That is _Miss_ Sutcliff to you, and unhand me!" snapped the redhead.  "Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?"  He struggled to pull away from the mortician's grasp.  "The last thing I need is your help.  You'd probably shave me bald.  I am sure I can manage just fine on my own."  
  
Undertaker clucked his tongue, not letting the smaller reaper pull free from his grasp.  "My dear lady," he corrected himself, scooping the fuming redhead up in his arms without warning, "have you noticed the length of my hair?  I'd have gone bald myself long ago, if I didn't know how to take care of long tresses."  
  
He kicked open the door to his shop casually and carried his protesting passenger through the entry.  "I'm also a mortician, need I remind you.  I have methods to clean out all manner of substances, without harming a hair on your pretty crimson head."  
  
He kicked the door shut again behind him, and it locked immediately.  He grinned at the paint-splattered reaper in his arms.  "You've just got to give a fellow a chance."  
  
He then began to carry Grell toward the curtain in the back of the shop—which divided his living quarters from the shop itself.  
  
"You...bounder! Put me down this instant! How dare you treat a lady as such!" Grell complained as he was man handled and carried inside the shop.  
  
Grell held onto the man as he waltzed to the curtain. He hadn't really thought of the mortician being able to fix the situation. Undertaker was an eccentric old fool, who had messed with the redhead more times than he could count. Grell never knew if the man was serious or just playing games with him. He had learned how, not to trust him, but perhaps he might actually be trying to help rectify the accident.  
  
"And just how do you expect to fix what has been done?" he asked, his curiosity nagging at him.  
  
"Well, first we'll need to get you out of those clothes," explained the mortician, pushing aside the curtain. "I'll put them in the wash bucket while you make use of my shower. I've got a mixture that's sure to get that goop out of your hair, and I'll even come help you, if you wish. You can borrow one of my robes while you're waiting on your clothes to dry."  
  
Undertaker gently set him back down on his feet, cordially gesturing down the hallway, which was lit by flickering candle sconces. "First door on your right, my dear. I'll bring you a robe whilst you peel that mess off and get the water running."  
  
He took his top hat off and he hung it on a rack near the curtain.  
  
Grell whirled around and faced the mortician. "You may certainly _not_ help me. What kind of lady do you take me for? I-I may be a flirt and I-I may have said things in the past, but I am no strumpet," he ranted, poking the mortician in the chest. "You can hand me that robe right now and collect my clothes once I am finished cleaning myself up."  
  
Undertaker shrugged, his grin hardly fading. "Suit yourself, dear. I'll be surprised if you can get all of that black out of your glorious tresses on your own, though."  
  
He caught up the hand that Grell was poking him with, and he found a clean spot to kiss. "If you decide you need old Undertaker's help though, just call."  
  
He winked at the redhead through the part in his bangs, and left him to go and collect the promised robes.

Grell puffed up like an old hen, "Insufferable old coot!" He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall towards the bathroom.  
  
Finding a lamp on the sink, Grell lit it, freezing the minute his eyes saw his reflection in the mirror. His mouth gaping in shock as he saw the fright that was himself, staring back at him. He reached up and touched his cheek.  
  
"I look like a damned shadow." he whined, closing his eyes, leaning on the counter for support as tears threatened to over take him. "Why do these things always happen to me?"

 

* * *

  
  
Undertaker resumed humming his sea shanty as he selected a robe for his guest. Looking at it, he estimated it would drag at least a foot behind Sutcliff...unless the vain reaper chose to wear his high heeled boots to boost his height. He grinned at the thought. Grell was certainly an entertaining creature, even when he threw a tantrum.  
  
When he wasn't covered in paint he was quite lovely, too. Hmm. He hadn't enjoyed another's company simply for the sake of doing so for some time. They all wanted something from him, and they always left once they got it.  
  
And they always thought of him as a creepy old fart.  
  
That thought had a sobering effect on Undertaker. At least Grell was honest about it, but it would be nice to strip away some of the layers and show someone what was underneath. He was so used to playing the role of...  
  
A cry of frustration from the bathroom drew his attention, distracting his wayward thoughts.

 

* * *

  
  
Grell slid his red coat from his shoulders, the only item he had left from his beloved Mistress, the former Baroness Durless. He held it out in from of himself examining it.  
  
"My beautiful coat...It is ruined, ruined beyond repair." he cried, no longer able to fight the tears. He hugged he coat to his chest as he sat down on the commode weeping.  
  
Undertaker knocked on the door, faintly concerned for his guest. "Are you all right in there, darlin'?"  
  
Grell's head popped up at the sound of the knock, "Go away!" he replied, sniffling.  
  
The mortician grinned at the childish response, but hearing the tears in his voice, he sobered. "Not until you tell me what has you in such a state. Maybe ol' Undertaker can help, eh?"  
  
"Haven't you helped enough? It's ruined...it can't be replaced. It was all I had left of her," his voice quaked as he hollered back through the door.  
  
"All you had left of who?" Puzzled Undertaker. He tried the knob and he sighed when he found it locked. "How do you know I can't help, if you won't let me try?"  
  
Jumping up, Grell rushed to the door, threw it open, and thrust the blackened coat at the mortician. "This...this is ruined...Anne's coat. It is all I had left of her and-and now...nothing will remove the paint from it." he turned, choking on a sob.  
  
"That woman you used to work for?" Queried the mortician, "The one that you reaped?"  
  
Why on earth would he hold so much sentiment for a coat he took from a woman he himself killed on a whim? And they called Undertaker a kook...  
  
Looking at how wretchedly unhappy he was, the old reaper's heart went out to him. It didn't matter what Grell's reasons were. Undertaker had no idea what might have happened between Sutcliff and Madam Red before she died. He had only Ciel's account of the event, after all, and it wasn't his place to judge.  
  
"There, there...don't cry. The paint hasn't dried yet, so we may be able to salvage it. Hand me the coat, and I'll set it to soaking in my best solution for getting out stains. As I said; I have to remove all manner of stains quite often."  
  
He held his arms out for the coat. "It's all right, love," he coaxed. "I've no reason to deliberately damage it further. Since the mess is partly my fault, at least let me try."  
  
Slowly the redhead turned back to face the mortician. His face set in a pout, reluctantly he handed the coat over. He doubted very seriously any salvaging could be done, but perhaps the man was right, maybe he could do something. What would it hurt to try? The damage was done. The worst had already be fallen the precious article of clothing.  
  
Grell watched as the man took his beloved coat away and began unbuttoning his waist coat. Some of the buttons did not want to give way as the paint began to dry and set.  
  
"Blasted...!" he exhaled, the last button slipping from his fingers. He decided it might be best if he removed his gloves; his bare fingers might not slip so easily.  
  
"Oh no!...no...no...no...!" he grumbled.  
  
The paint had begun to set under the rim of the gloves, sealing against his skin. More swear words fell from his lips as he stomped down the hall in search of the Undertaker.

 

* * *

  
  
He heard the redhead's loud approach, and the mortician turned away from the basin that he now had the coat soaking in to look at him. Even Grell's boots sounded angry.  
  
"What's the trouble now, my dear?"  
  
Grell held his hands out, "I can not get my gloves off. I need my fingers to undress and well... the gloves, they seem to have been sealed to my wrists. I-I...I need your help!"  
  
His cheeks grew hot as they turned bright red under the black paint. How humiliating it was to have to ask the silver-haired mortician for help. Grell's pride was forced to be put aside. He was purely at the man's mercy. He stood waiting for the wise crack he was sure would soon follow. They always came. The man could never pass up the opportunity to humiliate him further and here he stood like a chicken about to have its neck wrung.  
  
Indeed, Undertaker's first impulse was to tease the fuming Dispatch agent...but the tears drying on Grell's cheeks and clinging to his long lashes made him feel merciful. Unbeknownst to anyone else, tears were one of Undertaker's carefully hidden weaknesses. He hated sadness...which was why laughter was so important to him.  
  
His voice took on an uncommonly gentle, kindly tone--the one he once reserved for children when he came to collect their records. "I can never turn down a damsel in distress. Here now, don't panic. This is easily fixed."  
  
He put an arm around Grell and guided him to the basin, and then he collected the sponge and dipped it into the solution. After wringing it out a bit, he started to clean the mess up, so that the gloves could be removed.  
  
"There, you see? We'll have these off and soaking with your coat in a jiffy."  
  
Grell watched the man scrub his wrists. His hands moved swiftly, but gently. He had never heard the Undertaker speak so softly. He was kind and tender. No joke fell from his lips. It was as if he genuinely cared not to hurt him. The redhead's eyes wandered to his pale, scared face. His glasses were smudged by the paint, but he could still make out the man's cheerful smile as he held his hand in his own.  
  
"Thank you..." Grell whispered.  
  
Undertaker looked at him through the fringe of his bangs. Had Sutcliff just thanked him? Huh, that was new. He was ordinarily such a high-strung little chap...downright bratty, at times.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, he smiled at him and continued to gently scrub, peeling off one glove with care and dropping it into the liquid with the coat.  
  
"My pleasure. It was my paint that got you into this mess, after all. Least I can do is help clean it up."  
  
Quietly Grell sat, while the mortician continued to work on his other hand. He didn't know what else to say, so he just nodded when the mortician spoke. He never suspected the man could be so kind. It was rather refreshing to the redhead. Under all those jokes was a gentle soul. What other secrets did he hide? Grell puzzled over him, studying him, watching him. The man was so graceful with his movements, he was almost hypnotic.  
  
"How long do you suppose it will take for them to wash? My clothes that is?" the redhead asked, looking over at the basin, where his coat and glove were hidden below the surface.  
  
"I'd say we should let them soak overnight," estimated the mortician. I'll give them a good scrub and rinse them off in the morning, along with the rest of your clothes. You can take my bed for the night. I hardly ever sleep in it, anyway."  
  
He finished with the left hand and he grinned with satisfaction as he pulled that glove off and tossed it in the basin. He grabbed the hand towel from the nearby rack and patted Grell's hands dry.  
  
"There you go, my dear. You have free hands again." On impulse, he brought them to his smiling lips and he planted a kiss on the top of each one. "Now go and get that lovely red hair washed out before it cakes in. I set the robe on the floor beside the door when I came to check on you."  
  
Grell could not help but blush once more as the man kissed his hands. But the prospect of staying the rest of the evening and night was not overly appealing to him.  
  
"Must it really take that long? A-and where is the stuff that will get the paint out of my hair? I highly doubt soap alone with do the trick..." he inquired, gradually slipping his hands from the mortician's.  
  
"Do you want your cherished coat to come clean?" Countered Undertaker. "I'm sure a pretty young thing like yourself has places he'd rather be, but unless you want to go home in a robe two sizes too big for you and come back in the morning, I'm afraid you'll have to make the most of it."  
  
He grinned and spoke in a gently teasing tone. "Besides, what might people think if they see Grell Sutcliff going around in ol' Undertaker's drab robes? They might talk, you know."  
  
Feeling deflated, Grell slouched on the stool; very unbecoming of a lady. He nodded in response to the mortician's question, then asked, "What do I use on my hair then?" His eyes drifted down to his now, black speckled boots. Another sob tore through his body.  
  
"Now, now," soothed Undertaker, "those aren't so bad. I can fix them up, too."  
  
He gave the bereaved redhead a pat on the shoulder, before squatting down to help him out of his boots. "Do hurry, Mr. Sutcliff. You need to get in the shower and start lathering up. Lift your foot...that's it."  
  
He really couldn't say why he was coddling the volatile man, except that he wanted him to stop weeping and he really was partly to blame for his condition. He took the shoes away, and he resisted the temptation to tickle the unexpectedly cute little feet.  
  
"There we are," said Undertaker. He stood back up and carried the shoes over to the counter to be cleaned up later. He opened up the overhead cabinet and looked through his bottles and jars, until he found the special shampoo he used to clean the worst goop out of his hair when he had little accidents on the job.  
  
"Here," offered the ancient, handing the jar of thick white substance over to him. "I'd say your hair is of a length to mine, so two scoops ought to do it. Lather up with it, leave it on for two minutes, then rinse. Do it again if you have to and then wash your hair as normal with the shampoo and conditioner I've got on the shelf in there."  
  
Taken by playful impulse, Undertaker winked at him. "And if you need any help, just give a shout and I'll come running."  
  
"Miss Sutcliff..." he corrected once again, reaching out to take the jar from the retired reaper. "I'll leave the clothes outside the door."  
  
Grell shuffled back down the hall to the bathroom, bending over the tub, he opted to take a bath rather than a shower. He wanted to soak himself. He pushed the stopper into the drain and turned the water on. Once the water reached the right temperature, he stood up and began to undo his waist coat once more. The buttons stiffly releasing as his fingers moved as fast as they could. His shirt quickly followed the waist coat to the floor. He turned the water off, before removing his trousers and underpants. Scooping the bundle of clothing in his arms, he walked to the door and piled them in the hall, remembering to pick the robe up, carrying it back into the room with him.  
  
As he started to climb into the tub, he realized his stockings still adorned his feet. "Oh...I forgot about you." he whispered, slipping them from his feet. Quickly he threw them outside the door and crawled into the tub.  
  
The water sloshed around his naked body as he sunk further into the soothing warm water. He did as the Undertaker had instructed, while he waited for the goop to work its magic, Grell pulled his knees up in front of him, wrapping his arms around them, resting his cheek atop of them. The tears came easily. He didn't want to cry again. It was childish and petty to cry so much over spilled paint. But try as he might, he could not keep the tears from falling, mixing with the bath water.

 

* * *

  
  
As he worked furiously to brush and polish off Grell's boots, Undertaker again wondered why this seemed so important to him. He thought of all the exchanges he'd had with his guest in the past, and he started to grin.  
  
He liked the androgynous little spitfire, that was why. Perhaps some of his efforts were also inspired by the uncommon need to show someone that he was more than the creepy old eccentric, too. His smile grew wider as the paint began to come off. Yes, he could repair the damage to the shoes, as well. Perhaps he'd kiss Grell's cute little toes with their red painted nails before helping him slip the boots back on, tomorrow.  
  
He heard the bathroom door open and close twice, and he left off the shoes for the moment to go and collect the clothes Grell had dumped in the hallway. He paused at the bathroom door after gathering up the garments, his sharp ears picking up on the sound of soft, muffled crying from the other side.  
  
With a little frown, Undertaker shifted his burden in his arms and rapped softly on the door with his knuckles. "Are you doing okay in there, my dear?"  
  
"I-I am fine... ju-just waiting like y-you said to." Grell hollered back, his voice shaky.

It was a lie, he was not fine. He was sitting naked in the bath tub of the Undertaker's home. He never imagined in is wildest dreams he would ever be in a situation such as this. The day had started out bad to begin with.  Will suspended him again over some silly slight.  What was the harm in playing with Sebastian Michaelis, once in a while?  Nothing was ever going to happen between them—though Grell was still hoping that might change—but Will said he was disgracing himself and his department by continuing to chase after him, and he put him on three days' suspension to "teach him a lesson". With everything else that had gone bad, why would the paint alone upset him so terribly? The eccentric old coot was at least trying to help him. He should be more grateful, yet here he sat unable to stop from crying. He felt like a child needing to be held, held by loving arms, a warm embrace.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker didn't believe Grell's words for a second, but even he had sense enough not to barge in on a guest in the middle of taking a bath. He carried the dirty laundry back to the washroom and he dropped it all in with the rest that was soaking. Now that the clothes were all taken care of, he went to the single bedroom in the back and he shed his layers of clothing, changing into a fresh robe for the night without bothering to put on pants or boots. He hung up his hat and pinned his bangs back from his face so that he could see what he was doing better with Grell's shoes.  
  
Barefoot now and dressed only in one layer, The mortician took his soiled robes back into the washroom to soak it with Grell's clothes. He then went back to hovering over the boots, doing his best to clean them up.

 

* * *

  
  
Grell ducked below the surface of the water, submerging his entire body. He stared up at the ceiling through the ripples of the water, letting the goop from the jar rinse from his hair. After sometime, the water began to cool, he pushed himself up, pulling the plug from the drain. Carefully he stood and started the shower, grabbing the shampoo to start the process anew. The water cascading over his naked flesh. Shampoo mixed with water coursed through every crevice, over every muscle. He leaned heavily against the wall as the water rinsed the suds away.  
  
With a washcloth he scrubbed his face till it was raw and every fleck of paint was removed. Feeling finally clean, he turned the water off, wrung his hair, wrapping a towel around his crimson locks. He wrapped a second towel around his body as he emerged from the shower, the scent of jasmine and roses surrounding him. Grell had been pleasantly surprised to discover the soap was his favorite fragrance. The scent had relaxed him, made him feel more at home and himself. It was welcoming.  
  
Quickly he dried and lifted the robe. Shaking it out, he held it before him. "This is going to swallow me whole. It-it's so large!" he exclaimed, slipping it over his body.  
  
He turned to face the mirror. The sleeves hung several inches past his finger tips. The waist line sat just below his hips. He buttoned the robe, but from the waist down there were no more buttons, he hefted the waist up, slightly and used the attached belt, tying it as tight as possible, fabric hung over the belt. The top of the robe draped open, revealing his collar bone and the top of his breast plate. He rolled the sleeves up.  
  
Looking back up at the mirror, "Much better...now I just need to get my glasses cleaned...so I can see properly once more."  
  
Plucking the red frames from the counter, he walked to the door with the remainder of the robe dragging behind him. Quietly, he padded barefoot down the hall.

 

* * *

  
  
Undertaker was so absorbed in his project that he didn't hear his guest's approach. He treated his work on the shoes in the same way he treated his work on the deceased, giving his full attention to it.  
  
Grell stood transfixed, watching the mortician clean his shoes. The man never realizing Grell stood off to his side. Most of the paint had already been removed, they appeared almost as if brand new. Like with his gloves, the redhead was bewitched with the grace at which the man moved. He couldn't utter a single word, only could watch in amazement, despite how cold his bare feet were. He began to shiver and still he did not disrupt the man's work.  
  
Undertaker grinned broadly when he at last cleared away the last scuff. He didn't really have to go so far with it, but he truly felt bad for making Grell cry and he could be a bit of a perfectionist, once he put his mind to a project.  
  
"There," announced the mortician aloud, still not realizing that he had an audience. He held the boots up to the lamp light for inspection and he kept carrying on the conversation with himself. "Fit for a queen...or a lady in red. Now if I can only reproduce these results with that precious coat of his, he might come and visit again."  
  
With his teeth chattering, Grell asked: "Y-you w-wish for me t-to return-turn for a vis-visit?"  
  
Grell clutched the robe tightly around his small frame, trying to keep the cold out. With no fire in the hearth, the drafts had crept under the hem of the robe, snaking their chilly fingers up his legs.  
  
Quite startled, Undertaker whirled around with the shoes clutched to his chest with one arm. He instinctively called upon his death scythe, and it manifested in his free hand. He blinked near-sightedly at the blur of white, black and red, and his brain clicked into gear and reminded him that he knew this particular blur.  
  
"Mercy," sighed the mortician, his gaze for once un obscured by his hair. "You gave me a fright."  
  
He found that ironic, and he chuckled. Realizing he was still clutching Grell's shoes to his chest, he set them down on the counter and he approached the redhead, getting a better look at him. He began to grin again immediately as he looked him up and down.  
  
"My, my...look at you! Don't you look adorably charming in my robe. I could get used to that."  
  
He sighed, remembering the chattering question asked of him. "So, you heard ol' Undertaker muttering to himself, eh? I don't get much company, I'm afraid..at least, not of the living sort."  
  
He took Grell's chilled hands in his. "I confess, I may not have dumped that paint on you deliberately, but I'm not sorry it happened. I got to spend a little time with a pretty lady from it, after all."  
  
Noticing his shivering, Undertaker frowned. "Why, you're chilled to the bone! How thoughtless of me."  
  
Without ceremony or thought, he embraced the smaller reaper, failing to notice Grell's stare at his revealed, scarred features.  
  
Grell pushed at the taller man, startled. "W-what do y-you th-think you are do-doing, accost--ing me? Un-h-hand me this in-instance!" he ordered.  
  
He wasn't about to admit that he enjoyed the feel of the mortician's arms around him. They were strong and warm. He could have stayed infolded in their embrace for all eternity. But what kind of lady would he be if he acted so wantonly? Nothing good had ever come of it before. No, he must be a proper lady.  
  
"Let m-m-me go!" he demanded once more.  
  
"Nonsense," huffed Undertaker. "I'm not 'accosting you' by sharing body warmth, you silly thing. Have my hands wandered?"  
  
"N-no...b-but this is high-ly im-improper." Grell replied, his struggles lessening, slowly succumbing to the comfort of the man's warmth. It did feel good to be held, just to have someone wrap their arms securely around him.  
  
"M-my feet are c-cold..." he stuttered, the chill still twisting its way up his bare feet and legs.  
  
Undertaker smiled. "We can remedy that."  
  
Without explanation, he scooped Grell up in his arms and started to carry him to the bedroom in the far back.  
  
"Whaa...?" Grell threw his arms around his neck, locking his fingers together, as he was swept off his feet into the mortician's arms. "This is...I d-don't know w-what this is...b-but you probably sh-shouldn't b-be doing this." he scolded.  
  
"Whatever happened to the illustrious flirt?" Teased Undertaker with a wink. "Relax, my dear; I'm only trying to get you comfortable."  
  
He paused at the threshold of the doorway to his bedroom. "I could let go of you now as requested, but I think that would be rude of me at this point."  
  
He turned his head to whisper into the younger reaper's ear. "Do you want me to let you go, Grell?"  
  
Grell swallowed hard as a swarm of butterflies took flight in the pit of his stomach. His eyes met the mortician's, something in the way he said his name. A chill ran up his spine, causing his body to tremble. It wasn't the cold this time, but the man, that so effortlessly held him in his arms.  
  
"I-I...." he searched the man's eyes, a blush painting his cheeks. "No..." he whispered.  
  
Undertaker smiled. "Well then; let's see about making you more comfortable, shall we?"  
  
He carried Grell into the bedroom and he deposited him gently onto the king-sized canopy bed. He scooted the redhead toward the center, before draping the sheets and the rose-embroidered comforter over him.  
  
"Don't worry," assured the ancient, "I wash the bedding every fortnight; even though I rarely partake in it."  
  
Grell sat in the middle of the bed, watching the man pull the covers up, listening, but not hearing his words. Without reason, he reached out, placing his hand atop the mortician's. "Please..." Please what? Don't go? Stay with me? Where was that coming from? What was it that he wanted?  
  
The redhead said nothing more, he didn't know what to say or what he wanted, except he didn't want to be alone. He knew that much for sure. He didn't want the man to leave him. Beyond that, he was unsure.  
  
Undertaker cocked his head to the side in an inquisitive manner, like a wolf. "Please what, dearie?"  
  
"S-stay..." his gaze wandered away, but his hand still sat atop the mortician's.  
  
The mortician smiled. "I would be delighted to, darling."  
  
He sat down on the edge of the bead, and he reached out for the towel still wrapped around Grell's head. "May I? Your hair won't dry very quickly, bundled up like that."  
  
Slowly, the redhead nodded back. His pulse seemed to escalate as his eyes returned to the mortician's face. Their eyes meeting once more. His breath hitched as he saw the smile that they held. There was something else in them as well, something deeper, but Grell was unsure as to what. He held tightly to the covers in his hands, the butterflies taking flight once more in his stomach. He was frozen in his spot. His eyes never leaving the retired reaper's as he felt the man take hold of the towel.  
  
Undertaker unwound the towel and dropped it on the floor to take care of it later. He combed his fingers gently through Grell's damp, crimson locks, his long fingernails acting as a pick to sort out the tangles.  
  
"Lovely," he purred. Red was his third favorite color, next to black and pink. It really suited Grell.  
  
Grell closed his eyes savoring the feel of the man's fingers in is hair. His nails never getting caught or hurting him as they combed their way through. Slowly he fluttered his lids open, meeting the mortician's eyes. Goose bumps sprang up his arms and legs.  
  
"Why..." he started, but quickly shut his mouth.  
  
The mortician smiled, a bit amazed still to see this vulnerable side of Grell. "Why what, dear? Why do I think you're lovely?"  
  
"Why are you being kind? You're never kind...you always tease me.  Y-you never help me...Why? Just because you spill a can of paint on me. Is that it? To alleviate your guilt?" Grell snapped, turning his face away.  
  
"My, you're wound up tightly," observed Undertaker with a grin. "It's not good for your health to be so paranoid. You should try to relax more."  
  
He sighed though, because he'd been asking himself the very same question. "To be honest, I tease everyone, my dear. It keeps me entertained. As for why I'm being so nice to you...well...I simply don't like to see a lady cry. Or children, for that matter. It's always been a weakness of mine. Your tears tugged at ol' Undertaker's heart strings."  
  
Grell hadn't meant to snap. The old coot had jumbled his nerves. His touch had a stronger affect on him, than he cared to admit. It frightened him a bit. He had never let the Undertaker get this close before and now he began to ask why? Sure the man was handsome enough, but he had always been so off putting, so not serious. And while Grell knew how to enjoy life and have fun, there were times the man could be so insufferable, never knowing when to stop. That was until today.  
  
Slowly, the redhead peeked through his lashes and glanced at the Undertaker. He sat explaining himself, so sincerely. Had his tears really affected him? Made him want to comfort him?  
  
Softly, Grell spoke, "I am afraid I must apologize. I did not mean to snap at you. I am not use to being shown kindness..." He looked up as a single tear ran down his cheek.  
  
~Oh, Hell's Bells,~ thought the ancient as that one little tear tugged at his heart strings again. He reached out to brush it away with his thumb. "No need to apologize," he assured in a soft murmur. "I'm used to being snapped at."  
  
He grinned as he said it, and he winked, trying to cheer him. "If it makes any difference at all, I never meant to be cruel. I just like a good laugh, is all."  
  
"I suppose that is all you have ever intended, but it was still rude of me to snap and after all you are doing for me, to remedy the situation. Please forgive me?" his brows furrowed, creating a slight pout to is face.  
  
The mortician couldn't resist that if he tried. "Done and done, little rose." He stroked Grell's damp hair soothingly again. Don't you worry your pretty head about it."  
  
Driven by mischief as much as curiosity, Undertaker cupped the back of Grell's head and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.  
  
Instinctively, Grell's hands shot to push the mortician from him. But the feel of his soft lips pressed against his own, his fight faded fast. His hands settled delicately against his broad chest as he melted in the Undertaker's arms. A tiny moan escaped him. His body heat began to rise, stoked by the unexpected kiss.  
  
He'd been bracing himself for a slap, but the favorable response he got instead encouraged the mortician. He deepened the kiss, shifting closer to the redhead to put his arms around him. Undertaker had dalliances now and then; mostly with curious humans. He couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd so much as kissed one of his own kind.  
  
He stroked the crease between Grell's lips with his tongue, tracing it lightly in a silent request for entry.  
  
Grell's lips parted allowing the Undertaker's tongue entrance. His hands began to slide up the mortician's chest, gradually making their way around his neck. Some of his fingers getting lost in the long, silver, locks of his hair. Grell's body began to awaken. It had been so long since someone had held him, kissed him, wanted him. Yes, he knew the Undertaker wanted him as much as he wanted the Undertaker. It was a comforting notion.  
  
It had been nearly a century since he had last been with a man. His last relationship had been with Anne Durless. Unexpected one at that. He was not attracted to women very often, but she had been different. Of course he preferred men and over the past century he had chased a hoard of men, only to be cast aside. They had all found him repulsive and insignificant. But it was Undertaker who had kissed him first, he had wanted him. Grell's heart nearly leapt from his chest at the thought.  
  
Undertaker's pulse quickened with Grell's response, and he stroked his tongue against the redhead's and let his hands wander a little. He was subtle about it, all to aware of how volatile this fey, wild reaper could be. He took care to gradually move one hand from around Grell's waist to his front, his fingers deftly loosening the already baggy robe.  
  
He thrust his tongue deeper into that hot, willing mouth and he paid for his haste immediately, scraping himself on one of Grell's many sharp, pointed teeth. He was too aroused to care, and his blood mingled with their saliva as he seduced the other reaper's mouth.  
  
The taste of blood on his tongue only excited the crimson reaper. He began to suckle the Undertaker's tongue, drinking more of the metallic taste, arousing him further. He felt the mortician's hand fumble with the belt at his waist, but too intoxicated by Undertaker's mouth, he did not care. Let the man ravish him if he wanted. Grell wanted the moment to go on forever. Wanted the feeling to never end. The man felt like heaven to him.  
  
"Mmm..." Grell moaned louder, his back bowing, forcing their chests to press together.  
  
Undertaker finished loosening the belt, and slipped the plain black garment down over one of Grell's shoulders. He pumped his bleeding tongue suggestively in the redhead's sucking mouth, his groin swelling to full attention in his pants. His breath quickened with desire as he ran his hand over the smooth, creamy pale shoulder he'd exposed, and he tugged the robe down further to bare more of him.  
  
Feeling the chill waft over his heated flesh, Grell broke the kiss. Panting , he looked the Undertaker in the eyes, searching them. He didn't pull away, but focused on the mortician's touch, the way his fingers feathered over his skin. Grell's lips were swollen and painted red, the blood making them glisten. Casually he licked them.  
  
The mortician followed the swipe of Grell's tongue with his eyes, a thrill of lust jolting him in response to the sensual display. He met the redhead's gaze again and he held it as he eased the robe down off his shoulders. He ran one hand over Grell's lithe chest, and he reached out to trace his bloodied lips with the fingers of the other.  
  
"Aren't you a sight to make a man swell, darlin'," he declared in a low, husky voice.  
  
Grell's hand let go of the silver braid that it had been grasping, clinging to. Gently he placed it over the mortician's hand sliding, it from his lips to his cheek. Grell closed his eyes, nuzzling the man's palm.  
  
"I-I shouldn't be doing this..." he whispered, turning his head slightly. His lips caressing the Undertaker's palm as he placed delicate kisses to it. "You'll think... I am fast, a strumpet."  
  
Undertaker shook his head. "That's a mortal term of shame, love. It doesn't apply to you or I. The only way I'll think ill of you is if you never come to visit again."  
  
Grell opened his eyes slowly. "You won't think any less of me as a woman?" Grell asked, pressing another kiss to his palm.  
  
"Not at all," promised Undertaker, looming in for another kiss. He stopped with his mouth barely an inch away from Grell's, and he smirked.  
  
"In fact, I'll think a great deal more of you."  
  
The damage to his tongue had already healed, so he pressed his lips against the redhead's again and he delved his tongue back into his mouth; taking a little more care this time not to scrape it on his teeth.  
  
Instantly, Grell's eyes squeezed shut, he moaned into the kiss. His hand slid back up the Undertaker's arm, his body begged to be touched. His nails scraped the back of the ancient's head as he pulled himself closer to him.  
  
"Why...now?" he asked, into the kiss. He had to know, why after all these years? Why was it now that the Undertaker wanted him? Why hadn't he tried sooner? Said something? Done something? After all this time, why today?  
  
Undertaker resumed undressing the redhead, planting soft kisses over his face, his jaw and his throat as he disrobed him.  
  
"Why now?" He repeated between kisses. "Honestly, this wasn't planned. I only set out to comfort you, and it turned into this delightful encounter."  
  
He pulled away to look into his eyes, and he smiled a bit ruefully. "I never tried before because I didn't think a pretty young thing like you would want a creepy old codger like me. You made it quite clear that you saw me that way, anyhow."  
  
"I-I.... You _were_ creepy! An-and I had no idea how...how wonderful your mouth could feel." his voice dropped, becoming sultry as he pressed his mouth back to the Undertaker's.  
  
Undertaker forced back a chuckle of amusement, not blaming Grell for his impressions of him. After all, he regularly made it a point to intimidate people with the guise he wore. The admission that he liked his kisses made it all okay.  
  
Undertaker finished pulling Grell's robes down, and he couldn't resist teasing him a bit in a different way. He stroked his chest with both hands, pausing to brush his thumbs over the sensitive nipples and make them tighten to rigid little buds.  
  
"Am I still creepy, Grell?" He whispered into his ear, fondling the nipples gently to make them tingle. He nibbled his earlobe, thankful that he wore no constrictive pants or knickers beneath his robe. He was now sporting a tent in the dark garments that a person would have to be blind to miss.  
  
Grell tilted his head to the side, exposing the creamy, pale flesh of his neck. His groin ached from the Undertaker's teasing. He tugged lightly on his silver locks as he answered the mortician's question.  
  
"Yes..." he moaned, "But...in a...nnh... good...ahh... way..."  
  
Undertaker found that encouraging, and he dipped one hand lower, gliding it over Grell's stomach with slow persuasion. From his peripheral vision, he could see that the redhead was pitching a tent of his own in the sheets that covered him to the waist.  
  
"I want to make these lips cry my name," purred the older reaper, and then he claimed those lips again, swiping his tongue back and forth over the part in them.  
  
Breaking the kiss, his eyes shot open. Grell looked the Undertaker in the eyes and asked, "What _is_ your name? In all the years I have known you...I have never learnt your real name."  
  
He quirked his brows as he touched the Undertaker's cheek, his thumb, caressing it. "Please...?" he whispered.  
  
Undertaker smiled at him. "My, I've had so many." He turned his head and he kissed the hand that was caressing him. "Our true names are those we give to ourselves, darling...what we call ourselves in our minds. I was once known by many other names, but now I'm simply Undertaker. I chose it for myself when I retired, and so that's who I am, now."  
  
Seeing by his expression that the redhead was a little disappointed, the ancient smiled gently. "Would you like me to tell you which was my favorite name, of all the ones given to me while I was in service?"  
  
Grell's face lit up, "Please...your favourite?"  
  
He leaned forward, nipping at the retired reaper's ear and purred, "Then I will have a name to scream..." He flicked his tongue, playing with his lobe.  
  
"Khronos," gasped the silver reaper, unhinged by Grell's seductive words.  
  
His response came out as hasty babble, and he pushed Grell down onto his back and covered his lean body with his own, kissing him feverishly in his overpowering need for a connection with him.  
  
"Ooh..." Grell gasped, but was quickly silenced, by the crushing kiss Undertaker bestowed upon him. He slipped one arm around him and the other from the robe he was partially wearing, snaking them around his scar covered neck. His leg rubbed along side the mortician's through the covers. His arousal growing harder as he felt the man grind into him.  
  
Further encouraged by the eager response, Undertaker started to unfasten his own robe with one hand, while balancing his weight on top of Grell with the other. He fumbled with the belt and he growled with frustration when he had difficulty doing it one-handed.  
  
Grell giggled.  "Let me..."  
  
Grell moved his hands down the mortician's body, taking a hold of the belt, slowly he untied the stubborn knot. Biting his lower lip, Grell stared up at the Undertaker, his fingers crawling back up the man's torso. Reaching his shoulders, he pushed the robe down.  
  
"There..." he purred, his eyes smiling brightly as he pulled Khronos back down, placing a kiss to his collar bone.  
  
Undertaker shuddered with lust. He hadn't heard that name whispered in passion for ages, and though he'd cast it aside with all the other names given to him, hearing Grell use it roused his passion to greater heights.  
  
"Oh, love," he groaned, finding the redhead's actions entirely too sensual to armor himself against. He suffered a moment of insecurity when the garment slipped away to reveal his scar-striped, alabaster-pale body. He rarely showed anyone the extent of his scars, and he looked down at his companion warily as the elegant fingers began to trace the ones marking his chest and torso delicately.  
  
Noticing a flicker of fear cross Khronos' eyes, Grell inquired, "What is it deary? Is something the matter?"  
  
Undertaker lowered his gaze, and his long, thick silver lashes concealed his eyes. "They're unsightly to most others, I know. I do hope you aren't put off by them."  
  
"What these?" Grell ran his fingers along one long scar across his chest, that snaked around his side, disappearing behind his back.  
  
"They do not put me off... I find them intriguing and sexy. They show that you are a brave and enduring reaper. They are your stories and adventure. Your testament. I-I could never think ill of them. I find them..." his voice lowered to a purr, "Quite sexy."  
  
Pulling the retired reaper back down to him, Grell ran his tongue along the scar crossing his throat, stopping to suckle his Adam's apple.  
  
Undertaker needed no further encouragement. He pulled the covers down to expose Grell completely as he claimed his lips again. He shifted atop him, pressing the rigid length of his sex against the redhead's, rubbing them together intimately. He stroked Grell's tongue with his own, and he resumed his exploration of his body with one hand.  
  
He smiled at the little gasp he provoked from him when he tweaked a nipple. Guessing by his responses to stimulation there that he was quite sensitive, Undertaker began to fondle them one at a time.  
  
"Mm, you like that, don't you?" He purred, breaking the kiss to glide his lips over the arching neck and lower.  
  
"Mmm...yes..." Grell moaned. Biting his lower lip once more, his hips bucked gently into the reaper, urging him on. His leg slid up along the Undertaker's, slipping up over his hip, the redhead's heel pressing into his firm ass. His hands wound through the silver locks, holding the mortician to him.  
  
"Well then..."  
  
Undertaker dragged his lips down to the left bud and he circled it with his tongue, before flicking it against the peak. He gave the other nipple the same treatment and he undulated on top of him, smearing the slippery fluid of Precum between their members. He licked, sucked and tugged at Grell's nipples as he moved on top of him, growling softly with lust.  
  
"Khronos...nnnh..." Grell breathed, squirming under the mortician's ministrations. His back arched, causing him to press his hardened nipple against Khronos' lips. His body felt as though it were on fire, each stroke of the retired reaper's tongue stoked the flames, burning between Grell's legs. His own arousal growing harder still, pressing into the man's abdomen.  
  
The mortician kept it up, lavishing all the attention he could on the squirming redhead's body. He slowly moved down, leaving off kissing his nipples to make his way further down. He continued fondling the saliva dampened, taut nipples with his fingers as he kissed his way down to his next goal.  
  
The back of Grell's knee hooked itself over the mortician's shoulder as he slithered down his body. One of his hands held firmly to Undertaker's silver locks, as the other gripped the pillow under his crimson head. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt the reaper's breath on his arousal. Automatically his toes curled feeling soft lips graze his budding head. A soft moan fell from his lips as the mortician's warm tongue circled the head of his erection. "Khronos..." he began to call out the man's name.  
  
The older reaper smiled in gratification at the response, and he licked his way around the flushed knob, tonguing the ridge underneath, before sliding his lips over the head and taking it into his mouth. He only took it in to the tip at first, and he swirled his tongue over the salty little hole in the tip, making a few viscous drops of fluid leak out.  
  
He kept teasing Grell's nipples as he pleasured him, taking his time despite his powerful need.  
  
Grell's nails dug into the back of the mortician's silver mane. He screamed in pleasure as his body began to buck and thrash below the Undertaker. His knuckles turned white from gripping the pillow so tight. He tried to turn away, but was held in place as the mortician continued his pleasurable torture.  
  
Undertaker took him deeper into his mouth, his tongue flicking and curling against the swollen flesh he pleasured. It occurred to him that he had nothing to use as a lubricant at his immediate disposal. Rather than pause the encounter to go and fetch something from the basement or bathroom, he decided to make use of Mother Nature, instead. It would require some timing and finesse on his part, but he had done it before.  
  
Throbbing with greater lust by the moment, he eased more of Grell's shaft in, keeping his lips tightly sealed around the girth of it. He relaxed his throat muscles and took it in until his nose was tickled by the crisp red hair framing Grell's groin, and then he withdrew. When only the tip remained in his mouth, he licked it firmly before taking the length back in again.  
  
"Khro...nos...ahh...I-I...stop..." Grell started rambling, between moans. "I-I...nnh...no...no more. OH GOD!" he screamed.  
  
His body stood on the edge of ecstasy. Grell felt like at any moment he would die from the pleasure. His body was in over load.  
  
"Khronos...PLEASE!"  
  
The redhead's eyes began to roll to the back of his head as he tried to twist his body. Letting go of the silver locks he clutched at the bed sheets, gripping them, he dug his nails through the thin fabric.  
  
The ancient did stop then; but only to release him from his mouth so that he could finish him off with his hand. He squeezed the redhead firmly and he stroked him off rapidly as he squirmed up and lay beside him. He saw that Grell had bitten his lip and he licked away the resulting blood, before swallowing his cries with a kiss.  
  
Grell let go of the pillow, sinking his fingers into the massive silver locks as the mortician pressed their lips together. His hips thrust, pushing his erection harder into the Undertaker's hand. Parting his lips, he cried into the mouth that covered his own. Their tongues dancing a fiery tango, orgasm creeping ever closer. His body began to vibrate, he was caught in lust's rapture. Falling back against the pillows, Grell's back arched.  
  
Holding tightly to the silver braid in his hand, he screamed, "KHRONOS...!"  
  
His seed spilled over the Undertaker's hand, coating his abdomen as he climaxed. In the mortician's hand. H is member twitched as he floated back down from the arms of ecstasy. Slowly he opened his eyes and peered up at the man looking back down at him.  
  
"Khronos..." he whispered, his hand let go of the sheets and cupped the back of his head. Pressing their lips back together, the kiss was passionate and hot, like embers still burning bright, Grell began to harden once more.  
  
"Hmm, it doesn't take long, does it?" Observed the older reaper with a grin--referring to Grell's short refractory period. "I can see I have my work cut out for me, keeping up with you."  
  
No matter...he was nothing, if not a determined lover. It was a positive thing that Grell was already perking up for another round, in his mind.  
  
Undertaker retracted his long black nails so that he wouldn't poke his lover when he prepared him. he gathered the creamy libation from the younger reaper's stomach and he used it as a lubricant, deftly smoothing it over his fingers and the puckered entrance to Grell's body. He kissed the redhead deeply as he massaged the spot until it relaxed enough to ease a finger into it.  
  
Gasping at the intrusion, Grell gradually relaxed, his legs spreading in response. His eyes met the mortician's, his brows furrowing as he gripped his shoulders, panting. Feeling the Undertaker slide in a second finger, Grell buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. The moans escalating as they fell from his lips, against Khronos' pale flesh.  
  
"Easy, darlin'," purred the older reaper as he scissored, thrust and curled the digits inside of Grell. "Almost there." He nuzzled the drying red hair and shifted atop him, rubbing his aching, swollen sex against Grell's smooth inner thigh. He wanted him so badly that he feared he might spill himself on the first thrust.  
  
Grell gently bit the mortician's shoulder. His tongue ran up his neck, tasting the salty sweat that seeped from his pores. His lips skimmed the heated surface of his throat, pressing them to the Undertaker's Adam's apple and began suckling once again. He could feel how hard Khronos was, how badly he wanted to possess his body.  
  
He looked into the retired reaper's face and whispered, "Take me...now... Make... me yours..."  
  
"Oh, mercy," panted the ancient, at the edge of control.  
  
He thought Grell was ready enough for him, and he withdrew his fingers to position himself. Despite how randy he was, he couldn't resist a bit of teasing. He butted the head of his arousal against Grell's entrance as he slicked the remaining semen over his length for added lubrication.  
  
"And will you be mine after I claim you, Miss Sutcliff?" His voice was husky with need, the demand spilling out past his parted lips without conscious direction.  "Will no other touch you?"  
  
Grell hadn't thought about the words he had uttered. He had spoken, lost to lust. Was Khronos asking him to be his and his alone? That would be preposterous. True, they had known each other for years, but they had hardly been around each other. Never talked in friendly conversation, nothing. But here he was in the Undertaker's bed, making passionate love to him and he hadn't even been wooed properly or taken to dinner at least. What was the man asking? This was suppose to be a tryst, nothing more. Wasn't it?  
  
Their eyes met, something he had never seen was now visible in the retired reaper's eyes. It was more than lust, more than desire. He was looking down at him with... No that couldn't be.  
  
Before Grell realized what he was doing, he breathed, "Yes..."  
  
As surprised by his own words as Grell was, Undertaker lowered his mouth to his and kissed him. Why had he made such a demand? Certainly not just because he was randy. He'd never bound himself to another before just because they gave him an erection. He _liked_ this reaper, he realized. He wanted to spend more time with him. This was more than lust; he wanted a companion. He was tired of being lonely.  
  
Without another word, Undertaker breached him, groaning as his throbbing length slowly drove into the tight, gripping heat. His breath caught and he kissed him again, withdrawing to thrust again. He caught Grell's hands in his and he pushed them over his head, holding them there firmly as he began to pump, angling his pelvis to stroke the most sensitive spot in passing.  
  
"Ahh..." Grell cried, squeezing his eyes shut. The feel of the Undertaker entering him taking his breath away. As the mortician, pulled out and reentered him, his body relaxed a bit more and with each thrust after that, the pain dissolved into pleasure. His fingers laced with Khronos' as his hands were pinned above his head. Grell wrapped his legs around his waist, holding him to him. His pants, screams and moans were swallowed by Undertaker, his lips pressed firmly against the redhead's. A single tear managed to slip from his eye. It wasn't a tear of pain or sorrow, but a tear of appreciation and pleasure.  
  
Grell let out a tiny growl. His length being stroked by the mortician's abdomen with each thrust, each glide across his body. He could feel himself growing harder. Khronos also found the spot that could drive him insane. Well...more insane than usual.  
  
"Khronos..." he called, opening his eyes. Time stood still in that moment. He felt his heart melt. The man was not only looking down at him with smoldering eyes, but they seemed to glow. With passion, tenderness and love. Grell turned his head and placed a chaste kiss to the man's wrist.  
  
"You are beautiful," sighed Undertaker. He put more force behind his thrusts, watching every expression of pleasure flitting over Grell's fair features. He loved the way his brows furrowed, the way he blushed, and the way his shapely lips formed the words that erupted in the form of passionate cries.  
  
"Truly...beautiful," reiterated the ancient. He kissed away the tear that sparkled in the corner of Grell's eye. "Am I hurting you, love?"  
  
Crimson locks slipped away, exposing more of Grell's delicate neck as he shook his head, "No...not...nnnh...hurt...ing me..." he whispered.  
   
His eyes were closed as he nuzzled the Undertaker's arm, where their hands were joined. He bit down on his bottom lip and his grip tightened around the mortician's hands. He was nearing climax once more. He could feel the orgasm building deep inside him.  
  
Undertaker couldn't take it anymore. With a low growl of lust, he started thrusting hard and fast. He didn't notice when he cut his tongue again on Grell's teeth. He groaned his name, the sound muffled against Grell's animated lips as he stroked his tongue against his, again anointing it with his blood.  
  
Red nails dug into the backs of pale hands. Grell's lust growing higher as the taste of blood once more painted his tongue. He suckled long and hard until his body was tossed over the edge. He broke the kiss, screaming the reaper's name. Blood oozed out of the Undertaker's delicate white skin as Grell's orgasm swept over him. Warm seed jetted out between their bodies, coating both their stomachs. With back arching, he tightened around Khronos' member. Giving more pleasure to the man riding him as he encased Undertaker deep inside himself.  
  
"Unh...darling," gasped the ancient as Grell's clenching heat did him in. He bucked inside of him, his length pulsing as he filled him to the brim with his release. His body tensed all over as the climax overcame him, and he panted hard. As he rode it out, he kissed Grell tenderly, his lust sated, to be replaced with blissful affection. His tongue was again healing up, and he kissed the spent redhead's cheeks and nose, sighing happily. He released the smaller reaper's hands and he caressed his face, lifting his head to gaze down at him and admiring the way the afterglow made him look.  
  
"I never dreamed we'd end up like this," he confessed when he caught his breath, "but I'm so very thankful for it. Styx bless you for giving this old reaper a chance to show you another side of him, Grell Sutcliff."  
  
A tear sat in the corner of his eye, his legs slowly lowered themselves, brushing along the Undertaker's. Grell reached up and smoothed away the hair that had stuck to the mortician's cheek and brow, glistening with sweat. Grell smiled as he lifted his head to place a tender kiss to the man's lips, cradling him still within his body.  
  
"Thank you...Khronos." he whispered, wrapping his arms around the Undertaker's neck, pulling him down to rest his head against his shoulder.  
  
With a contented sigh, the mortician lay his head against Grell's shoulder and he remained that way for a while, still inside of him and holding him close. He could daresay he enjoyed this part of their encounter almost as much as he'd enjoyed the sex. It had been so long since he'd held anyone in his arms like this.

 

* * *

  
  
-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"What now...?" Grell softly asked.

His foot running up and down the Undertaker's leg, as he kissed his cheek. Grell's fingers, matching his foots rhythm, traced circles on the mortician's back. He could lay there just like that and be perfectly content for the rest of his days, but he knew that was not possible. Inside, the thought of having to leave these warm arms holding him hurt. He still didn't understand what was going on between them. How things had escalated so quickly. But what happens next? That one question ran over in his head as he looked the retired reaper in the eyes.

"Now?" Undertaker raised his head and gazed down at him, the fall of silver bangs partly obscuring his eyes. "Why, now we bask in the afterglow and fall asleep together, as I recall. I know some things have changed since I last shared my bed, but I hope you don't intend to rush out on me, dear. Besides, I still have to finish cleaning your garments off and feeding you breakfast, in the morning."

He rubbed the tip of his nose against Grell's, grinning. "Breakfast in bed. How do you fancy that?"

Grell smiled, shaking his head, "I don't have to be anywhere at the moment. Breakfast sounds..."

A loud rumble emanated from the redhead's belly. His wide eyes met the mortician's, "Perhaps we should have dinner first. I haven't had a thing to eat since well before noon, and I think it may be to early for sleep. The sun was just beginning to set when the world went black on me." A tiny pout crossed his features as he requested something to satisfy his crying stomach.

Undertaker chuckled with delight. "Needy little thing aren't you?" he teased. He kissed him softly and withdrew from his body. "Well then, I'd best see what I have in the pantry. Can't have my lady love going hungry. I could boil some soup bones and make us up a stew, off the top of my head. Would that suffice?"

"Get me the ingredients and I can start it while you build a fire in the hearth. You have me all toasty warm now...we wouldn't want me to grow cold again, would we?" he smirked.

Grell ran his blood red nails down the mortician's cheek, before he let go of him. The absence of his body pressed against his own, sent a tiny chill over his naked flesh. Quickly he pulled the robe up and over his body, slipping his arms back through the sleeves. He tied the belt, buttoning only a couple of buttons. There was no need to button it all the way back up. He giggled as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He felt like he was floating on air.

"Sounds fair to me."

Undertaker got out of the bed and located his discarded robe. After slipping it on, he helped the redhead to his feet. Together they made their way to the kitchen. He started up the coals in the little stone cooking hearth and he rummaged through the cabinets for a hanging pot, before gathering the ingredients from the pantry. As an afterthought, he also liberated a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack and he poured a beaker for Grell and himself.

"I really ought to get out and purchase some real glasses," sighed the mortician as he placed the wine and the beakers on the table to go with their meal. "But I've a surplus of these, so they come in handy."

Grell chopped up vegetables and sliced the beef into cubes. He added salt and pepper, a dash of garlic and water. A touch of milk to thicken the stew, he threw in the bones for added flavour. Some tomato paste that Undertaker had stored from pureed tomatoes and stirred it all together. While it simmered, he picked up his wine beaker and sipped it. A tiny smile painted his lips.

"Nice selection!" he commented, his voice low and sultry. "Is there anything else you would like to go along with the stew?"

He stood leaning against the counter, next to the stove. The robe had fallen open, revealing one, long, soft, ivory leg. His eyelids fluttered closed as he held the beaker to his lips, sipping. He savored the flavour as it swirled in his mouth, before sliding down his throat. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at the Undertaker.

Undertaker looked up from the fire he was stoking, his green-gold eyes scanning Grell's body and lingering on the exposed leg. "Suddenly, I'm not that hungry for food."

Grell giggled, "Is that so? And they call _me_  randy..."

The redhead turned around, sitting his beaker down on the counter. He lifted the lid on the pot and began stirring the stew again. He took a sip of the broth, noticing something was missing, he sat the spoon down and replaced the lid. He opened the spice cupboard. Rummaging, he raised up on his tip toes to look in the back, shuffling the bottles of different spices around. The robe pulled tight against his flexing rear end, revealing the curvature of his toned ass.

Unable to resist, the mortician came up behind him and cupped his bottom, nuzzling his hair as he gave it a squeeze. "You have teasing a man's cock down to an art, my dear. I'll try to contain my lust until after we've eaten, but I make no promises after that."

Having just wrapped his fingers around the cinnamon, Grell yelped in surprise. The feel of the Undertaker's hands groping his bottom made him feel giddy. Slowly, he turned around in the mortician's arms, wearing a bright smile on his face.

"Are you offering to treat me to dessert as well?" he giggled, wrapping his arms around the Undertaker's neck.

"I'm tempted to make a dessert out of _you_ , fiery little temptress," advised the Undertaker huskily. He lowered his head to trace the Dispatch agent's lips with his tongue. He gave him a playful little swat on the bottom, before stepping away, lest his passions arise again and steal his senses. Grell jumped again, another unladylike yelp falling from his lips. With a wink at the unpredictable redhead, Undertaker went to the pot and checked the ingredients.

"This looks nice, love."

"It needs a touch of this." Grell replied, holding out the cinnamon, giggling.

He slid his arms around the mortician's waist, after handing him the jar. He brushed the fall of long, silver hair to one side and he leaned up to kiss his neck, while Khronos added the spice. "I would be willing to satisfy your sweet tooth, if you like," He whispered, his eyes closing briefly as he laid his head against the Undertaker's back.

Though the invitation made his groin throb and pull completely taut, Undertaker tried to decline it. "Food first," he said, stirring the pot. "Ravishing afterwards. Styx, I'm a glutton for punishment."

The redhead giggled, "Yes we need nourishment first."

But Grell did not let go. He continued to press kisses across the Undertaker's back, his arms still tightly clasped around his waist.

"Little hellion," sighed Undertaker, waddling over to the cooking fire to hang the pot.

Once he'd gotten it attached to the iron hook hanging down, he disengaged Grell's arms from around his waist, turned around and caught him in his arms, lifting him up. He crushed his mouth against the redhead's and he carried him over to the counter, setting him on top of it and pushing his thighs apart. He slid his hands into the opening of the robe to pull it further apart, baring the younger reaper's long, pale legs to view as he settled his hips between them.

"Do you want me to take you right here?" growled the mortician. "You're tempting me to, love."

Grell's face became severe as he wagged his finger at the mortician. "Tsk..tsk... Khronos." He lowered his voice, turning sultry once more as he leaned forward. "You will spoil your dinner if you take your dessert now." A tiny, naughty giggle passed his lips as he nibbled the Undertaker's ear.

The older reaper ground himself against Grell, the material of his robes the only thing separating their groins. "You sure about that, darlin'? I've got a rather insatiable appetite, once you get me started."

"Nnnh...we do... have... thirty... minuets till... the stew...ahh... will... be ready..." Grell groaned, between kisses that he placed to the mortician's neck and throat.

Undertaker grinned, slipping the rest of the robes off easily to leave the sultry redhead nude on his counter. He undid his own robes to part them and he cupped Grell's bottom, pulling him more tightly against him until their erections were aligned.

"You _are_  a naughty little thing," he purred, reaching down to wind his fingers around both of their throbbing members. His fingertips couldn't meet around the girth, but they didn't need to. He began to pump his hand, and he kissed Grell deeply and tweaked his left nipple with his free hand. He would have loved to lay him down on the counter and take him again, but he had nothing nearby for lubricant and he was too impatient to try the trick with his seed again.

He thrust his hips as he stroked them both off, creating an intimate friction between their shafts that made him groan. His tongue lanced into Grell's mouth to wrestle with his, his breath coming harsher by the second.

Grell took a hold of the mortician's hand, lifting it from his nipple. He broke the kiss, his hips rocked in time with each stroke of the Undertaker's other hand. He flicked his tongue out, licking the Undertaker's index and middle fingers. Gradually he slipped them into his mouth, his eyes locked with mortician's, a wicked grin on his face as he sucked them, coating them with saliva. His teeth scrapping them, but never scratching them. His tongue ran around them and between them, tiny moans encouraging the Undertaker as he pumped the digits in and out, past his lips.

"Insatiable," breathed the mortician, drawing his nails in so that he wouldn't inadvertently stab the back of Grell's throat as he performed his marvelous fellatio on his fingers. He gritted his teeth and squeezed their cocks harder, watching the glaze of pleasure deepen in Grell's heavy-lidded eyes. He paused in his stroking to brush his thumb back and forth over the flushed, captured head of Grell's shaft to make him shiver.

Perhaps he was wrong about his concerns that he couldn't keep up with the vivacious creature; it seemed all the little tease had to do to get him randy was cast a suggestive glance at him and wiggle his tight little bum.

Shiver Grell did, his head fell back, releasing the man's fingers. His eyes closed as he rested his head against the cupboard, biting his lower lip. "You call me insatiable, but you are down right cruel, tormenting as such." he grunted.

"You started it," countered Undertaker childishly, his voice escaping in a breathless groan. He kissed Grell's arching throat, biting down on the creamy pale flesh just enough to sting, and he resumed his pumping. He put his now free hand against the small of the redhead's back, sliding it down to cup his ass as he strove to revisit paradise with him.

"Love," gasped Undertaker, licking the spot he had just been biting. He thrust against Grell's swollen flesh, and he kissed his way down to his collarbone...then further down to his chest. He closed his lips around a rosy nipple and suckled it, flicking his tongue against it insistently.

Grell gasped at the intrusion, his hands held fast to the wood cabinet, he was pressed against. "I-I may have started it... but you...ahh... but you didn't have to follow..." he retorted, breathlessly, his toes curling.

His nails scraped the wood panel on the door of the cabinet. Another moan filled the air, his back arching, pressing his nipple deeper into the mortician's mouth.

Further excited by Grell's response, Undertaker growled softly and fondled the other nipple with his fingertips, moving his hand rapidly over their straining flesh. He felt himself approaching release and he did his best to hold it back, waiting for Grell to reach climax first.

"Mmm...nnh... KHRONOS...!" Grell screamed, collapsing forward, his arms flying around the mortician's neck as his seed once more spilled from his erection. He bit the Undertaker's shoulder lightly, panting. His body shook as small remnants of seed ejaculated from his body, his orgasm sending waves of pleasure all through him.

"Thank death," gasped the older reaper, at the end of his rope. Grell's bite was his undoing. He allowed himself the pleasure of coming all over their stomachs, his libation blending with the redhead's to paint them both with pearly, creamy white. Panting and wondering if he might collapse, Undertaker put his arms around his companion and held him close while he caught his breath. He heard the stew bubbling and he reluctantly eased away from Grell.

"I'd better check on that and get us a tea towel to clean ourselves up," he said, smirking down at the mess coating both of them. "You'll drain me dry, my dear."

"Am I to much for you?" Giggled the redhead. "You're suppose to be legendary." He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He pulled the robe back around him as he waited for the Undertaker to return with a towel. Softly he began to hum, he couldn't remember the last time he felt so high, felt so invigorated. His smile grew brighter and wider as the Undertaker walked back up to him, towel in hand.

Undertaker nearly groaned at the sight of him, and he looked down at his groin. "Surely not," he muttered as it started to stir again. "Behave, you."

He looked back at Grell with a smirk. "And that goes for you, too." He closed the distance and began to wipe the smear of seed from the redhead's body, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I'm an old man. Have pity on me."

Grell cupped his face, "You are only old in numbers. You are not like mortals, love. Your body is strong and can rival that of any youth in the mortal or immortal realm. Stop trying to act like you are old and near death. You are eternal death. You will never be weak." His voice was calm and assuring, lustful and alluring. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

Breaking the kiss, he murmured: "Now lets eat. I am hungrier than I was before." He jumped from the counter and pulled the pot from the fire, carrying it to the table he sat it down on a trivet.

"Bread?" he asked, looking back at the stunned mortician.

Undertaker shook himself out of his stupor, and he closed his robe and hastened to comply with the request. "Of course, lovely."

He hadn't expected that from Grell. Usually, the redhead made it his mission to remind him of how ancient and creepy he was. Now he was praising his virility. It made the mortician grin with the realization that he had indeed shown the pretty little thing another side of him, which few others ever got to see.

They sat down to dinner together and they chatted companionably, finishing off the whole bottle of wine between them before disposing of the leftovers and washing up the dishes. The wine dulled their senses enough to make sleep come easy for them when they returned to the bedroom and cuddled up together, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Undertaker's smile was genuine--not just a mask he wore to deceive others.

 

* * *

 

  
The sound of a rooster filled the morning air as the sun just began to climb above the horizon. Sometime in the night the redhead rolled from the Undertaker's arms. He faced away from the morning light, his back to the sleeping mortician. The sheet had bunched down at his waist, exposing his back. His leg peeked out from under it, along the bed's edge. His hair was sprawled and fanned out all around him, draped over the pillows. His hand lay delicately next to him.

The sun slowly crept in the window and onto the Undertaker's face—teasing him, trying to wake him from his blissful sleep.

"I'll never forgive myself for not painting over that window," sighed the ancient to himself.

He realized a moment later that he wasn't alone in his bed, and the night before came rushing back as he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his sleeping companion. He smiled and he gently combed aside a lock of crimson hair that had fallen over Grell's eye. Remembering his talk of treating him to breakfast, he decided there was no better time than the present. He planted a soft kiss on the fair shoulder and he eased out of the bed carefully and quietly, so as not to disturb Grell. He left him sleeping there as he went into the kitchen to make breakfast for him, hoping to have it ready and on a tray to carry to him before he awoke.

 

* * *

 

Grell's eyes fluttered open to the feel of soft lips pressed to his own. The aroma of food tickled his nose. He smiled up at the Undertaker. "What are you doing out of bed? And is that tea and crumpets I smell?"

Grell hadn't heard nor felt Khronos stir. He had stayed cocooned in slumber's embrace as the man had risen and vacated the bed. The morning sun had begun to warm him as it kissed his back, through the window pane. He had vaguely heard the Undertaker re-enter the room, the soft clank of the tray being sat down on the stand, next to the bed. It wasn't until he felt the soft, warm touch of Khronos' pale lips on his own that he awoke. Undertaker's piercing green eyes were looking back at him, and a warm smile was on his face.

"Indeed, you do," murmured the retired Shinigami. "I did promise you breakfast in bed, didn't I? Here, scooch up so that I can properly serve you."

Undertaker waited until Grell was sitting up in the bed, before setting the tray gently over his lap. He stroked his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "I'm afraid buttered crumpets are all I have to offer now, but I'll make it a point to go to the market and fetch some things for the next time you visit...which I hope will be soon. The tea is freshly brewed, though. Rose hips and cinnamon."

He straightened up, feeling a bit like a butler but hardly minding it. "Enjoy your breakfast, my dear. Your clothes are nearly dry. I just need to go and give your shoes a good brush while you eat."

Grell reached out to grab his hand, "You aren't going to join me for breakfast?" His eyes widened with surprise. He hadn't expected Undertaker not to join him. "There is plenty here." he pointed out.

Undertaker took hold of Grell's hands and he kissed the top of them, one at a time. "I've already had my breakfast, dear. I didn't want to wake you. Now you eat up, while I ready your clothes."

He pulled away and started for the door, but he paused and looked back at Grell. "Do you like the theater, my dear?"

Grell looked up at Khronos, having just bit into one of the crumpets, it took him a moment to swallow it. "Yes, I adore the theater. Whatever made you ask?" he asked in kind. He sipped his morning tea, awaiting the Undertaker's reply.

"Thought I'd take you out on one of those...date things," answered the mortician, looking down and fiddling his feet boyishly. "If you're up for it during the week, of course."

Lowering his cup, Grell looked up with a sobered expression. "I would love to." He could not help himself, a tinge of pink crept across his cheeks. No one had asked him on a date since he was at the academy. Butterflies sprang to life in his tummy, making him feel light headed. He took a deep breath and smiled up at the mortician, repeating himself, "I would love to..."

Undertaker smiled, relieved in spite of himself. "Then it would be my pleasure. I won't be too terribly long, my dear."

He left him then, fearing he might notice the stain of color bleeding into his pale cheeks.

Once the mortician stepped from the room, Grell fell back onto the pillows the tray bouncing slightly on the bed, over his lap. The tea in his cup sloshed, but didn't spill. He felt as though he could sing all the way to heaven. His cheeks were warm and his heart thudded hard against his chest. He stared up at the canopy, cocking his head, his brows furrowed and his top lip curled. "Pink?!"

 

* * *

 

Undertaker finished taking the clothes off the line on the top of his shop, and he carried them back below to present them to his lover. He was quite pleased with himself, until he happened to hear Grell's exclamation in response to the sight of his choice of canopy covers.

"Pink??"

"Oh, bugger," grumbled the ancient, cringing on the spot. He'd forgotten all about his guilty pleasure when he'd taken Grell into his bed. How embarrassing. Well, the cat was out of the bag--so to speak--so he might as well make the most of it. He forced his feet back into action and he came around the corner and stepped into the bedroom.

"Hullo, love," he said, avoiding looking at his own canopy with all his might. "Look! Good as new!" He held out Grell's clothes for his inspection, having taking care to put Madame Red's jacket on top of the folded pile. "Even the jacket."

Grell did not sit up right away, instead his eyes shifted from the canopy to the mortician as he walked to the bed with his clothing. He noticed the pink dusting on his cheeks. Was he embarrassed by something? Grell looked back up at the canopy, then back to the retired reaper. Did he hear his exclamation? A rueful smile crossed the redhead's lips.

"Oh..Undie...!" he called. He had slipped one hand behind his head, to prop himself up. With the other, he was curling his index finger, beckoning the Undertaker to him.

Undertaker stopped, suspecting a trick. His expression fell and he looked at the clothing in his arms. "You don't care about the clothing you were crying over last night, then?"

His face burned, and he had the horrible feeling that he'd been toyed with. Grell Sutcliff was quite the actress, after all. He noticed the glances the younger reaper cast at his canopy and the ugly feeling twisted harder in his gut. He dumped the clothes on the bed and cast an uncommonly scathing glare at his guest.

"Hope it's to your satisfaction, Sutcliff."

He wanted to add that he hoped he enjoyed the show as well, but the disappointment was like a blade in his gut and he actually felt like he might throw up or cry or both. He turned around and left the room without another word, his mind recalling memories that he wished he could banish forever.

Grell shot up. Surprised by the Undertaker's demeanor. ~ _Whatever just happened?~_ he thought to himself.

Carefully, he moved the tray from his lap sitting it on the other side of the bed. He picked up his shirt, throwing it on hastily. He buttoned the first few buttons, giving him a little amount of modesty. He climbed from the bed, dashing down the hall after the Undertaker.

"What the Hell? What was that all about?" he hollered as he approached the retired reaper. Grell stood with his hip out to one side and his hand resting on it. He eyed the mortician, trying to grasp the situation. Trying to figure out why the man had turned on him so suddenly.

Undertaker stopped in his tracks and struggled with himself. Grell's expression of surprise made him think that perhaps he was wrong. "Pink...was her color," he said softly, "My Vivian. I...thought that you were mocking me. Nobody has...shared that bed with me since her."

Grell's expression softened, not expecting to hear the Undertaker's admission. He approached the mortician, laying his hand against his cheek. Grell looked into his eyes, "Why ever would I mock you? I-I was surprised to say the least, but if you cherish that colour... I am sorry... perhaps I should leave."

His heart sunk, of course the man had been in love and apparently still was. Grell knew better than to get his hopes up. He didn't want to compete with a ghost. Better to walk away now, before he was to far in over his head. He released the mortician's face and turned to head back to the room.

Undertaker stared at the trudging form of Grell Sutcliff, and he grew more annoyed. "One little misunderstanding, and you're ready to flee. Here in lies my proof, damn you."

Storming after the retreating redhead, angry that Grell had not only failed to give two shits about finding out why he loved that color, but had also given up so easily. "Don't ever come near my shop again, Sutcliff, if you aren't prepared to deal with the ghosts of my past. I wanted to treat you like a lady, but even that isn't good enough for you. Keep calling me the old creeper...keep taunting me...like you usually do."

He turned around and grimaced. "Just go, if I'm only a source of amusement for you."

Mortified, Grell quickly began throwing his clothes on. His breakfast lay on the bed, barely touched. He draped his coat over his arm, his gloves were stuffed in his pockets, his stockings were on his feet, yet he clutched his boots to his bosom and left his waistcoat unbuttoned.

He glared at the mortician, "I thought you were different. I knew better than to trust you and yet I allowed you to seduce me. A joke! That is all I have ever been. A bloody joke! Laugh...laugh all you want...How dare you treat me in such a manner. You-you Coffin Hugger!"

The redhead stormed to the front of the shop, slamming the door behind him. He dropped a shoe on the way out but he didn't notice. He stood in the cold morning air, unable to breathe, unable to move. He collapsed against the wood, his back sliding down the door. He dropped his items on the pavement next to him. Hugging his knees he began to weep.

On the bed lay his red and white stripped neck ribbon, unnoticed in his fit of temper and pain, he had left behind.

 

* * *

 

Only after the younger reaper left did Undertaker realize what he had done. He charged out the door calling his name...only to find him curled up on the street. He circled around in front of him and he regarded him with conflicting emotions.

"Grell," he said in an aching voice, "I thought you were mocking me. I'm...very sorry. You just seemed so quick to dismiss everything when I tried to explain...here, don't cry."

He reached out for him, trying to make it better. "I didn't want to make you cry, love. I just...I'm protective of her memory, and the color is all I have left."

"I can't see well enough to get home," Grell pouted, pushing himself up. His  glasses were missing.

"That's because you ran off without these, my dear," said the ancient, holding out the item in question. He put them onto Grell's face, but he didn't allow him to run off. "One of your shoes is still inside as well. Can you at least allow me to explain?"

Volatile, needy creature, why was he even bothering? Undertaker asked himself this as he looked at the tear-streaked face, and he remembered a time when he'd been in such a similar situation. He'd meant it when he said he wanted Grell to be his. He just wasn't sure how he'd survive such a commitment.

Grell choked on a sob. Coughing, he nodded. "I will listen, but please know...I was not mocking you. I may be a lot of things, but I am not truly cold-hearted or blind to the tragedy of lost love. Had you just come to me when I called..." He looked down, fidgeting with his waistcoat.

"Vivian was the only mortal woman I ever loved," said the ancient with a sigh, sitting down on the cobbles beside him, "and I loved her dearly. It was back when the plague struck, and she succumbed to it. There was nothing I could do, except watch her wither away and die before my eyes. I kept part of her cinematic records in one of my lockets; as I do with all mortals that are special to me. The pain of losing her has faded, but I'll never forget how lovely she looked in pink."

He cupped the weeping agent's chin to lift his head and gaze into his eyes. "Just as you do in red. You aren't competing with her ghost, Grell. If anything, last night healed my old wounded heart...made me think that perhaps I could love another, after all. I'm a protective lover however, and that carries over beyond death. I took it as an insult to her memory when you teased me, and that was my own fault."

He dared to plant a soft kiss on Grell's trembling lips. "Again, I apologize. If you'll give me a chance to make it up to you, I'd like to."

Grell stared deep into the Undertaker's eyes. He was being serious, he was not teasing or casting a joke over him. Grell rather liked this side of the creepy old coot. Undertaker was dashing when he held a genuine smile and wasn't about to use his shortcomings as jokes.

Slowly the redhead nodded, "Yes. I am terribly sorry as well. I had no idea. A little secret love. I happen to enjoy pink very much and I believe it suits you well. I was just surprised, that's all."

Undertaker smiled, oddly relieved. He impulsively scooped the redhead into his arms and began to carry him bride-style back into the shop. "Then let's start with dessert. I make a fantastic pumpkin pie. I know dessert is customarily served after dinner, but I'd like to spoil you; that is, if you have time before you must be off to work."

Holding tightly to the Undertaker's neck, Grell spoke. "Shouldn't I finish my breakfast first? I didn't get very far into it. Although I am sure my tea is rather cold by now. Not that I would turn down pumpkin pie. And I don't have to be at work today. I was suspended..." He looked away and whispered, "Again!"

"Suspended?" Undertaker tried to act surprised, nudging the shop door open with one booted foot and pushing it wide so that he could carry his passenger in. "However did that happen, love? Were you a naughty lady?"

Grell grimaced, "Well...umm...you see I was on a reap and well, I kind of reaped the wrong soul. In the meantime, the soul I was to collect was stolen." He looked away, a small chuckle escaped him. "Will didn't take that very well and when he came to fetch me. He found me not in my office making the report out, but in a field picking daisies. I still have no idea how he found me there." He looked back up, waving his hand in dismissal. "Needless to say... Will suspended me for a week and took away my scythe again."

"You poor darling," chuckled Undertaker as he carried him through the shop to the back curtain. "Seems like each time I see you, you're stuck with those scissors. That William runs a tight ship, doesn't he?"

He pushed the curtains aside with a foot and carried Grell through them, nuzzling his nose affectionately.

Nodding, "Yes, that stoic ass. I have no idea why I ever thought the twat was handsome. He is cruel, hits me over the head. I don't mean to mess up. I just get carried away sometimes. The blood...it's just so pretty." Grell smiled, then asked, "You work on bodies, surely you understand how lovely blood can be, right? Or am I truly the only one who finds beauty in that form of macabre?"

Undertaker smiled, trying not to burst into laughter at Grell's less than flattering use of adjectives for his boss. "Indeed, I do. There is beauty in death, if you know how to look for it; and the human body is such a fascinating thing."

He brought him through the curtain and gently set him down on his feet. "A 'twat', is he? Pffft!" He covered his mouth hastily as he burst into snickers. "Oh my...I...I'm sorry, dear heart, but...bwah-ha-ha! Tee-hee-hee! Oh, my sides! You...you always do come up with the most entertaining phrases!"

Fearing he might piss himself laughing if he kept it up, the ancient struggled to reign in his amusement, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter even after he put a stop to the guffawing. One thing did sober him, though. "He oughtn't pop you on the head, though. He's in a position of power over you, and you can't hit him back."

"Oh yes, that would help my case all the more," said Grell sarcastically. "Hit the boss back...Hmph..." Grell crossed his arms over his chest.

"Now what? You got me back in here. Would you like me to help you bake a pumpkin pie or do you have any bodies to work on? And before we do anything I want to finish my breakfast." He inquired, looking up at the Undertaker.

The room had grown quiet. Slowly, a smile crossed Grell's face. "Don't look at me like that, say something. You are more frightening when you are quiet, than when you are yelling at me."

"Mmm? Oh, I was just imagining snapping William T. Spear's scrawny little neck," said the mortician absently. "By all means, go and finish your breakfast, love. I'll get the pie started in a jiffy."

He gave the redhead a smooch and a little squeeze before letting him go, and he went into the kitchen to begin the prep work for the pie.

Grell giggled. "Would you not rather wait for me to help you? I won't be a minute finishing my breakfast." He peeked around the corner from the hall. "I don't mind baking, especially if you have work to do."

Undertaker smiled at him. "There will still be plenty left to do, by the time you finish. You're welcome to help me then."

He fetched a small pumpkin from the pantry, and he set it on the counter to begin carving and gutting it. "I have a garden of these growing out back, you know...along with some rose bushes. I ought to take you out there after we put the pie in and show you. I think you'd like the flowers."

He began to whistle a folk song as he started to work on the pumpkin.

Grell winked at the mortician, before darting down the hall. He threw his coat over the foot of the bed and rolled the stockings from his feet. He preferred to be barefoot when ever possible. He slipped his waistcoat off and pulled the gloves from his pockets. Slowly he crawled back onto the bed, laying across its width, on his belly. He picked up the crumpet he had started not long ago and quickly devoured it.

A few minutes later, he carried the tray with him and returned to he kitchen. "I am finished. I told you it wouldn't take me long." A fit of giggles over took the redhead as Undertaker looked at him. "I am sorry love, I don't mean to laugh." Grell placed the tray on the table and walked up to the retired reaper. "Here." He reached out, picking pumpkin guts off the mortician's cheek and chin. "My aren't we a messy one." he teased, balling the guts in his hands.

Undertaker laughed when he understood what he was doing. "Thankfully, I'm a bit tidier when handling the deceased. Thanks, darlin'. The bin's just over there, near the archway."

Discarding the ball of pulp, Grell inquired: "Why choose this? If one were to retire, why choose this life, this job?" He looked around the kitchen and the shop, waving his hand.

"I am just curious. One would think you would be sick and tired of death after so long being a reaper. Why not become something else? If you like the mortal realm, there are just as many fascinating things to do."

He sauntered back up to the mortician and leaned against the counter. His fingers strumming through the collection of pumpkin seeds as he watched the mortician began to slice the pumpkin up.

"Ah, but it was the _soul collection_  that wearied me," answered the mortician. He shaved the outer layer off the pumpkin bits and put the orange flesh into a bowl for mashing. "The dead have always fascinated me, and they probably always will. I just couldn't bear any more of reliving their memories, sharing their hopes and regrets and fears. It takes a toll on you after so long. Survive long enough, and you'll see."

"Currently, I live for the juicy bits. I honestly could care less about the other stuff. I just view what I need and fill out the bloody reports." Grell replied nonchalantly as he began to peel the guts from the seeds. "I suppose that must seem as though I am callous, not caring about their lives so little. But honestly, I can't feel much when I watch. For the most part, mortals make such horrid decisions and I am surprised more don't pass on sooner."

He stared at the pulp covering his hands, twisting and turning them over. "I am a bad reaper...aren't I?" His voice was low, a tinge of sadness held in it.

Undertaker regarded him thoughtfully. "No. If anything, I'd say your detachment from their mortality makes you the _perfect_ reaper. I was never able to do that, my dear. I empathized too keenly with my assignments and in the end, I couldn't take it any longer."

Grell stood side by side with him, and gradually the redhead laid his head against the Undertaker's shoulder "I am heart—" His words cut off by the jingle, of the bell, which hung over the front door of the shop.

"Sounds like you have a customer. Here, you go take care of business. I can manage on my own." he softly spoke, removing the knife from the Undertaker's hand.

Curious about what he'd been about to say, the mortician shrugged and went to collect his latest "client", leaving Grell to resume where they'd left off with the pie.

Grell finished chopping the pumpkin, dumping the tiny cubes and slices into a mashing bowl. In one arm he held the bowl and in the other, the masher. He softly hummed a tune as he began to mash. It was a sweet little diddy he had learned many years ago. Unfortunately, he had never been able to remember all the words, but the melody, he never forgot. His body began to sway with the rhythm of the song and before he realized it he was waltzing. His eyes were closed and he imagined he was at a grand ball. He was in a lovely red dress and a handsome fellow, held him close in his arms. It was the Undertaker and he was smiling fondly down at him.

The mortician came back into the kitchen to find Grell dancing and humming to himself, and he stopped and watched with a grin. He waited for the redhead to dance his way and he caught him up in his arms and joined him. "I just sold a coffin to a widow," he explained as Grell opened startled eyes to look up at him. "You're light on your feet, my dear."

He twirled Grell around, before putting his arm around him again and taking his hand in his. "Mayhap after the theater, we can go dancing, hmm?"

The redhead nearly dropped the bowl as he was caught up in the mortician's arms. Smiling, he replied, "Dancing?! I would love that. I have always wanted to go dancing. A ball or a hall?" he giggled, realizing he had just made a rhyme.

"We'll see what's available when we go on our date," said Undertaker. "If either option is open, then it's lady's choice." He bent down to kiss him, and then he released him to start on the pie crust.

"Covenant Garden!" Grell chimed in as he continued to mash up the pumpkin. "There you can dress up, take in a show, dance and..." with a devilish grin on his face, he sat the bowl down and wrapped his arms around the mortician's waist. He raised up on his toes and whispered, "Go gallivanting through the gardens." He giggled, nibbling the Undertaker's ear.

The mortician grinned and turned his head to capture those teasing lips. "Covenant Garden it is, then. Shall we say Wednesday evening?"

"Sounds delightful!" the redhead beamed, kissing the mortician back, his finger slipping into the flour. As their lips parted, Grell tapped the retired reaper on the nose, coating it with the soft powder.

"Naughty kitten," admonished Undertaker, and he reached for the flour to return the favor.

"Hey!" the redhead exclaimed, glaring at the Undertaker. Without a word Grell scooped up some mashed pumpkin, smearing it all over the mortician's face. "Pumpkin?!"

"That was childish," accused the ancient, but a grin split his mouth a second later and he snatched some up as well to respond in kind.

"How dare you!" Grell balked. But the redhead could not keep up the expression of being angry, a fit of giggles overcoming him. Wanting to kiss Undertaker's pumpkin covered lips, Grell stepped forward. He slipped on the pumpkin and flour that had landed on the floor. In attempt from falling he grabbed the mortician's arm. It was in vain. Both reapers fell to floor.

"Oof! Well done," grunted Undertaker as he landed on top of Grell. He did his best to avoid crushing him, and he laughed softly even as he looked down at him with concern. "You all right, darlin'?"

"I think I hurt my rear, but...." Grell burst out laughing. "I don't think we are ever going to finish this pie." He shook his head, touching the Undertaker's cheek, and he began to wipe away the pumpkin.

"I think you're right," agreed Undertaker. He lowered his grinning mouth to Grell's face, and he licked a bit of pumpkin mash from it. "I think that I prefer it on you, rather than the crust."

Raising his eyebrow, Grell quietly spoke, "Is that right? If you are good, I might just let you eat it off of me."

Undertaker didn't waste another moment. He proceeded to lick the rest of the pulpy mess off, and he shifted on top of him, pressing his re-awakening desire against Grell's thigh. "You're determined to keep me in a state, my dear," he purred. "I hope you're still able to walk, by the time I finish with you today."

The bell to his shop rang and the mortician sighed, bowing his head over Grell's shoulder. "'Course, I may kill the next person that walks through that door. Oh, bloody hell...I forgot about the girl."

Grell blew a strand of hair from his face as the Undertaker got up and went to greet his customers. "Damn!" he breathed, pushing himself up. He walked over to the sink. Grabbing a towel, he proceeded to wash his face. He looked at the floor and the state it was in.

"Such a terrible waste." he giggled, "Better clean it all up."

He picked up another towel, wet it. Dropping back to his knees, on all four, he began to clean the flour and pumpkin, his hips swaying like a cat's as he moved across the floor.

 

* * *

 

"I'll have her ready for her big day by tomorrow night," Undertaker assured the coffin bearer as he signed for the body he'd delivered. "Tell them my rates are as follows." He marked down the price of each procedure he was to perform on the client, plus any additional work that was required. While he traded in laughter when it came to acting as Ciel's informant or dealing with Scotland Yard, he charged coin most of the time when he did autopsies or prepared bodies for burial. After all, a reaper had to eat, and he had someone in his life now to spend a little money on, too.

The delivery man tipped his hat to him and took the slip of paper he offered back. "I shall see to it, sir. Good day to you."

Undertaker waved as the gentleman walked out the door and climbed back into the coachman's seat of the hearse, and then he shut and locked the door again. He walked over to the plain wooden coffin bearing his newest client, and he retrieved his crowbar to open it.

"Well now, let's see what we have," he grunted as he pried the lid open and looked inside. The young woman was quite the mess, and he took a moment to gaze down at her remains with a smile of appreciation. "My, my...this was quite a gruesome accident, to put you in such a state."

He cracked his knuckles. "Not to worry, my dear. Undertaker will get you all prettied up again. At least your face is still intact."

"You have a new customer I see... Ew.. What in the word happened to her? She's been chewed up and spit out, the poor dear." Grell mentioned as he walked up along side the mortician, peering into the wooden box.

He looked up at the Undertaker, "Khronos, this looks oddly familiar to me." Looking back down at the mangled corpse, Grell became quite pensive. The feeling was growing worse, the longer he stared at the body. He shivered as a cold chill ran up his spine.

"According to her paperwork, she was mauled by a lion that somehow escaped its cage in the city zoo," answered the mortician, looking over the body thoughtfully. "I'll have to get her into the basement and on the examination table for a better look, of course, but her injuries don't seem to match her alleged cause of death."

Undertaker looked at the redhead, his smile fading at the expression on his face. He reached out to stroke his back, wondering what had gotten under his skin. "I take it when you say this looks familiar to you, it doesn't mean you've seen someone mauled by a lion, before. What's troubling you, love?"

Painting a smile on his face, Grell looked up at the Undertaker. "It's nothing. I am sure you are right. A lion. Umm..the kitchen is cleaned. I threw the pie bits out. I am going to run home. You are welcome to join me for dinner when you are done with her preliminary. I am sure it will take you until then to get her cleaned and prepped for a full autopsy, and you will be hungry by then."

Undertaker put his arms around him and kissed him softly. "I would be delighted to, dear. I'll see you to the door."

"Give me a moment to put my shoes on and gather my belongings...or are you tired of me and ready to be rid of me?" the redhead chuckled.

The mortician looked down, startled. "Oh dear. I didn't realize you ran out earlier without one. You're fortunate you didn't cut your feet on something when you ran outside."

"I live barefoot. My feet are used to it. I will write down my address and hand it to you before I leave. Take her downstairs, in the mean time," Grell replied as he started down the hall to the bedroom. His belongings were still strung out all over the bed.

He sat down and slipped his boots on, lacing them up nice and tight. He stuffed his neck ribbon in his pocket and pulled his gloves on. His arm garters he decided to put in his pockets as well. He slid his arms into his red coat. All ready he opened the drawer to the night stand looking for a piece of paper and some ink and a pen. But there was none to be found.

Hoping he might have some in the shop, Grell went to the counter and began rummaging through the drawers, until at last he found an ink well and quill. "Haven't used one of these in some time." he giggled, running his fingers over the soft feather. Quickly, he jotted the address down and ran down stairs.

"Here love... You can't miss it. I am the center house. There is a rose on the gate to the walkway." he beamed as Undertaker read the address, scribbled on the piece of paper.

~ _Number 13 Berkeley Square.~_

Undertaker took the slip of parchment and he tucked it safely into a pocket in his robe, beaming at the redhead. "Then I'll see you this evening, darlin'. I should have the young miss cleaned up and ready for embalming, by then."

Guessing that Grell wouldn't be offended by the presence of the corpse—he _was_ a dispatch agent, after all—the mortician pulled him into his arms for a goodbye kiss. "Looking forward to dinner," he murmured against the silken lips. "Shall I bring anything? Some wine, perhaps?"

Grell slipped his arms around the mortician's neck, melting into the kiss. "Just bring yourself and I shall have everything waiting for you. Say about six thirty. That should give you some added time to make yourself handsome for me...not that you need it." He smiled, pressing close to the man embracing him.

"Will do, love. I'll see you around six-thirty, then."

Looking back down at the corpse one last time, another chill, shot up Grell's spine. There was something very strange about her, something very familiar. Grell didn't like the way she made him feel and he was glad to be heading home and far from the deceased woman.

"Tata," he whispered as he slipped from the mortician's arms and hurried up the stairs and out of the shop.

Undertaker smiled and watched him go, but their was an unease behind the cheery expression as he looked down at the body. "My, my, what was that about?" he asked the corpse once his lover was gone. "You seem to have spooked him, dear. That's no easy feat. What really happened to you, I wonder, and what does my love know about it?"

He wouldn't find the answers by asking her, of course. To make the dead speak, one needed to examine their secrets more closely. Undertaker pulled his hair back into a ponytail, slipped his surgical gloves on and dragged his instrument tray over to begin.

 

* * *

 

Outside the Undertaker's shop, Grell stood, flagging down a cab to take him home. He didn't feel much like walking, and the corpse inside the shop behind him had him quite nervous. He chewed the tip of his glove as he waited for a cab to pull up, his thoughts wandering back to her wounds. Had her face been touched, he would have sworn that was a woman Madame Red and himself had gotten a hold of—but alas, her face was still fully intact.

He didn't like to think back on his former Mistress. He had loved her and helped her only to be betrayed by her devotion to her nephew. However, Grell regretted killing her. She was a special and unique mortal. He'd loved her very deeply, unlike any female before or after. Over time, he had come to realize his mistake. He would give anything to bring her back, knowing that it was impossible. If things could be changed he would have let her live; just severed ties and moved on....but guilt dies so slowly, when one realizes their mistakes.

A cab came rolling up and the driver inquired if the redhead needed his services. Nodding, Grell gave the man his address and climbed in, taking his seat. He stared out the window, watching the businesses slowly disappear and the residential neighborhoods appear, but his mind kept wandering back to the corpse. She was a handsome woman, but what killed her? He knew by looking at her that there was no way it was a 'lion' that caused her death. No, if he didn't know any better, he could swear she had been had by an altered death scythe. Perhaps Undertaker would have some answers when he arrived this evening. Perhaps he could alleviate his fears. Grell made a mental note to inquire about the mortician's newest customer.

 

* * *

 

"If this was an animal attack, I'll eat my boots," declared the mortician as he finished up and covered the body. The injuries weren't caused by tooth, nail or any other animal part. He could detect a reaper aura around the injuries, though he didn't believe any of them had actually been caused by a death scythe. He sighed, wondering just how many dispatch agents had gone sour in this generation.

"They don't make 'em like they used to," he observed aloud. He smiled when he thought of Grell. "But I can live with that."

Deciding that his love interest deserved at least a little pampering for his gracious invitation, the mortician went up the stairs and out the back to his garden. He selected two flowers from his rose bushes; one black and one red--and he clipped them to bring with him.

He filled a beaker with fresh water to stash the flowers before getting cleaned up and changed for his date. His suits were a bit dated, but he made due and he brushed and tied his hair back with a black ribbon. Hoping his appearance was acceptable, the retired reaper fetched his little gift and locked up before leaving to hail a carriage.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

Grell looked up at the clock once more, six twenty-five. Khronos would be arriving soon. The redhead had just returned downstairs to add the finishing touches after his bath. He had pinned his hair up in the latest, ladies fashion. A beautiful gold comb, adorned with garnets, tucked into his mass of cascading curls. His corset was sinched tight, giving him a lovely, hourglass figure. His dress was bustled in the back, velvet and satin, the shade of garnet. It was trimmed in gold brocade, a set of garnet droplets, dangled from his ears. A matching chocker sat delecatly around his neck.

The curtains were drawn, the fire was ablaze in the hearth. Candles were lit and a beautiful bouquet of red roses was the center piece. The smell of pheasnt filled the dining room as Grell carefully carried the dish to the side table for serving. There was Fresh baked biscuits and a light, creamy gravy sauce. Leeks and lintils were sides, along with steamed carrots. For dessert he had baked a pumpkin pie. Merlot say chilling, waiting to be uncorcked. Once more Grell looked at his reflection in the hall mirror. Making sure every hair was in place.

Undertaker stepped up to the door with his offering in one hand. He rang the bell and stepped back, a little nervous in spite of himself. It didn't matter that he'd already had his date in various ways. He hadn't been on any sort of date for longer than he could remember. He self-consciously straightened the black bowtie at his throat, hoping his appearance was all right.

Grell turned his head, hearing the doorbell. He took one last glance in the mirror and then straitened his skirts. The train dragging behind him as he glided to the door. Letting out a deep breath, he turned the knob and opened it.  
  
With a warm smile, he greeted his guest. "Khronos, welcome! Please come in and make yourself at home." He stepped back, allowing him to enter.

Undertaker smiled broadly at the sight of him, taking him in with appreciative eyes. "Well now," he murmured, "aren't you a lovely vision."  
  
He held out the two roses almost sheepishly. "For you, my dear."

Grell blushed with pleasure. "Thank you... How very kind of you. They are simply lovely." Grell received the roses, lifting them to his nose and inhaled the soft fragrance. "They smell beautiful. You also look very handsome. I never would have imagined you cleaned up so well." he teased, closing the door behind the mortician.

Undertaker leaned in for a kiss.  "I had good reason to clean up nicely." He murmured against Grell's soft lips.  "I haven't had a proper dinner date with anyone in ages." 

He sniffed the air hungrily.  "That smells divine.  What are we having?"  He looked around curiously at the interior of the house as he followed Grell to the dining room.

Looking over his shoulder, Grell replied to the mortician's inquiry. "I thought you might enjoy pheasant." Stopping he turned, grinning wickedly, "I also baked a pumpkin pie for dessert. Perhaps we can have dessert...." he trailed off, dismissing the sentence.  
  
Grell was hoping the Undertaker might get his hint, that perhaps dessert would be better served in bed, but that would remain to be seen. For now dinner awaited.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker looked at the spread with appreciation.  A scarlet tablecloth covered the dining surface, and a candelabra graced the center of the table, burning dark red taper candles in its brass arms.  He took a sip of the wine Grell had poured for him and nodded in satisfaction.  He watched as the redhead brought out the plates and he thanked him when he set his before him. 

"It looks wonderful," he complimented, but his eyes weren't on the food at all; they were watching Grell.

"Thank you love. It took a lot of effort to look this good for you." The redhead smiled. Bending over, he ran a blood red nail down the mortician's pale cheek. "And the food looks wonderful too...don't you agree?" he winked, giggling as he took his own seat across from the Undertaker.

"Right...the food."  Undertaker looked down at his plate and grinned, picking up his knife and fork to begin sampling it.  "Now to find out if it tastes as good as the chef who made it."

He pulled some tender meat away from the bone and he brought it to his lips, blowing gently on the steaming bite before placing it into his mouth.  The burst of flavor was delightful, and he closed his eyes and hummed with appreciation.

"Mmm."  He chewed, swallowed and raised his glass in a toast.  "Compliments to the chef.  I could never cook a pheasant right, myself.  This is a treat."

Grell tipped his head as he accepted the compliment. "I was taught well. Most would never believe I could cook. But I take painful pleasure in doing so, especially when I can offer it to a guest...much like yourself." A hint of lust falling from Grell's lips, casting innuendos over his words.

The subtle flirtation wasn't lost on Undertaker.  "I look forward to sampling more of your skills, my dear; culinary and...otherwise." 

He took a sip of his wine, his gaze holding Grell's for a moment before he looked down again to cut away more meat from the fowl.  He couldn't see his dining companion very clearly at even this short distance, but his vision was good enough to appreciate the sultry look in his long-lashed eyes, and the graceful motions of his hands as he ate.  Grell Sutcliff was both male and female to him; masculine in anatomy, but feminine in mannerisms and looks.  He was by far the most interesting lover he'd ever taken, and he was probably the most passionate, too.

Unable to resist a little playful flirtation beyond words, the mortician brushed his foot against Grell's beneath the table and he grinned at him as he ate.  As his appetite for food was satisfied, his appetite for the cook began to grow.

Feeling the brush of the Undertaker's foot, Grell looked up from his plate. "Don't tell me you are already for dessert?" The redhead, grinned happily behind his napkin.  
  
Had he only known sooner what type of appetite the man had, he would have pursued him rather than wasting so much time and effort, on that cold-hearted beast at the office. Undertaker appeared to appreciate his charms and accept him for what he was, where Will paid little attention and could have cared less if Grell was even in the same room as him. After years of dejection, having been rejected countless times, it was a wondrous feeling to have someone drooling, quite literally over him.

"I've got a sharp appetite," answered the mortician with a coy grin. He finished off the last morsel on his plate and sighed with satisfaction. "I hope you don't think me a glutton."

"Why ever would I think that? I believe you have a very healthy appetite." Grell replied with a devilish grin.  
  
Seeing that the mortician had finished his dinner, Grell pushed his chair back. Rising from his seat he picked his plate up and sauntered to the Undertaker's side. He reached out to clear the dinner plate.  
  
"Here let me take this for you and I shall return shortly." he whispered, stacking the plate atop his own.

"Ta," said Undertaker with a smile. He watched Grell as he left, admiring the sway of his hips. He scooted his chair back a bit and he relaxed, sipping his wine as he listened to the other reaper rummaging around in the kitchen. "Need help with anything, love?"

Grell glided back into the dinning room, dessert plates and a serving piece in his hands. "Are you ready for dessert or would you like dinner to settle first?" he inquired, sitting the serving piece and plates on the side table, next to the pumpkin pie.

Undertaker reached out for him abruptly, catching him by the wrist and pulling him into his lap.  He grinned at the redhead's startled oath and he put his arms around him, steadying him.  "Let's give dinner a few moments to settle, first.  I'd like to cuddle."

Grell placed his hands over the Undertaker's at his waist. "Cuddling? You want to just cuddle?" A not so lady-like snort escaped him as he broke out in a fit of giggles. "You my dear are positively the strangest being I have ever met!"  
  
The redhead looked over his shoulder and winked, "But I like that...I like that very damn much."

Undertaker nuzzled Grell's styled hair, appreciating the subtle hint of perfume he detected.  "I confess; I'm a serial cuddler.  I haven't had much of an opportunity to do it with you yet, though."

He murmured into the redhead's ear, his voice a low purr.  "The rest can wait for after dessert."

"Does not cuddling typically occur afterwards and not before?" Grell teased, placing a chaste kiss to the Undertaker's cheek. Grell laid his head back on the mortician's shoulder, eyes closing, relishing the feel of warm arms holding him tight.  "Be very careful love, or you just might spoil me. A girl could get use to being cuddled after dinner."

Undertaker shrugged.  "I like to cuddle, be it before or after lovemaking.  It's one of my favorite things to do with a lover, but I've had so few in recent years, and most were finished with me once they'd satisfied their curiosity."

He gave the smaller reaper a squeeze and he brushed his lips over his temple.  "Holding someone close like this is one of the simple pleasures of living, my dear...and I don't get to do it often enough."

Grell opened his eyes, "Yes, I do believe I could agree with you on that. Cuddling is a simple, but wonderful pleasure. And like you, it has been to many years since someone actually wanted to just hold me." he confessed.  
  
He pushed himself up and turned to face the Undertaker, his eyes searching the retired reaper's. "Do others truly use you, for their own curiosity?" he asked sincerely.

"Unfortunately, yes," answered the mortician.  "Interested humans see me as the mad eccentric, and they wonder what it would be like to bed someone like me, I suppose.  Other reapers see me as an exotic old has-been, who's been around long enough to know a few things they'd like to sample.  I'm sure there are other reasons, of course, but whether they know who or what I really am or not, the end result is usually the same.  Come morning, they've gone scarce and I never hear from them again—unless I bump into them somewhere."

He sighed, stroking Grell's hair.  "I was convinced you would leave the moment your outfit was ready, the morning after our encounter.  We had a rocky start to the day, but I'm grateful you stayed to work it out with me."

The redhead smiled, "Thank you for being man enough and wise enough to come after me...even if you did not have to run that far."  
  
He bit his lower lip as he played with the mortician's tie. "Also, thank you for cleaning my items and giving me a place to stay. You didn't have to. If anyone else had seen me, anyone from the dispatch, I would have been the laughing stock."

"All I did was try to right the wrongs that made you cry," answered the mortician gently. He gave him another squeeze. "But I'm glad I did, and you're quite welcome."

Grell gave a fleeting smile to the mortician. He was appreciative no doubt, but also felt bad for the mistreatment he had paid the retired reaper over the years. His face grew serious as he began to speak.  
  
"I would like you to know something...my sweet, sweet Undertaker. I am not a lady that spreads her legs for just anyone. I know my reputation out weighs my words, but I can assure you...I am not in the habit of fucking on a whim. I am just overly passionate and lonely. And had I ever known that you would be interested in me. I would never have played cat and mouse with that damned demon or chased after William for so long. Although I must apologize. I was not very fair to you either. I judged you way to soon and without getting to know you first."  
  
The redhead pouted, tapping the mortician's lips with his fingers. "Shh... let me finish, before you decide to speak."  
  
Grell placed a chaste kiss to the Undertaker's brow, his words poured from his heart as he softly spoke. "Thank you for allowing me to see past your facade and for the chance to get to know you. Please forgive me for being so rude all this time. I would very much like for you to get to know me...the real me."

Undertaker smiled, rubbing Grell's back.  "My, what a gracious declaration!  I would like that, my dear.  I think we all hide our true selves from the world, in some way or the other.  It would be my pleasure to be worthy enough to see what lies beneath yours."

He kissed him then, out of words for how touched he was.  He never would have imagined himself and Grell Sutcliff like this.  He always thought there might be some meaningless sexual encounter with him somewhere down the line, but this was a refreshing change. 

Melting into the kiss, Grell let out a soft, contented moan. His arms looped around the mortician's neck, clinging to him as he tilted his head slightly, pressing their lips closer together.  Undertaker's tongue fenced with his as the kiss grew more heated, and he loosened the pins holding Grell's hair up into its fancy style.  Freed locks of silky, crimson red spilled forth to fall down the smaller reaper's back, and the mortician sifted his fingers through it, admiring the softness.  His lips traveled to Grell's neck, and he placed his free hand on the redhead's thigh, rubbing it slowly through the scarlet material of his dress.

Grell gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttered shut. "Khronos..." he moaned, a shiver of pleasure making his entire body tremble. Goose flesh covered his skin. He wiggled ever so slightly in the Undertaker's lap. The pantaloons he wore under his dress were beginning to grow tight and uncomfortable. The redhead's cheeks pinked up, feeling like they were on fire.  
  
"Is it hot...ahhh...in here or...mmm... is it just me?" he asked, panting between gasps of pleasure.

The ancient began to subtly gather up Grell's skirts, slowly revealing his stocking-encased legs. Cuddling became a secondary desire as he swelled in his pants, but he took his time. He kissed and licked Grell's neck as he ran his hand over the black stocking on his left thigh, slowly nearing the source of the redhead's discomfort.  
  
"It is indeed, pretty rose," he agreed in a husky, breathy voice. He nipped at Grell's neck, then kissed the spot to sooth the bite immediately.

Lifting his head, Grell's eyelids lazily opened. His gaze meeting the Undertaker's. His hand slid back around from the mortician's neck and began to play with his tie.  
  
"Perhaps I should loosen this then." Grell purred, undoing the knot.

"Please do."  Undertaker's fingers toyed with the garter fastenings on Grell's stockings, before sliding his palm over the smooth, fair hip.  His lips left a raspberry mark on the redhead's neck, before moving on to brush over his collarbone and shoulder.  His hand roved around from Grell's hip to his inner thigh, the knuckles brushing against the swelling beneath the lacy pantaloons.  He teased around that area, sensing the growing tension there.  His nails lightly caressed the sensitive skin of Grell's inner thighs, and he began to unlace the top of the redhead's dress with his free hand.

"What a lovely thing it would be," he murmured in a droning voice—not at all like the scratchy one he used when masquerading as the crazy mortician, "to hear you call that name with such quivering abandon again.  You are the first I've shared it with since I cast it aside, my dear...but don't call it out just to please me.  I want the cry to come from these lips when you can no longer hold it back."

He kissed him on said lips again, unmindful of the lipstick now smearing his own.  He traced Grell's teeth with his tongue, greatly daring, as he ran his nails lightly over the bulge in his undergarments.

Grell's body trembled in the man's arms as he slid the tie from around the mortician's neck. His hand gripping the back of Khronos' head, nails digging into his delicate skin. "Nnnh.." he whimpered, his free leg slipping from the man's lap, sliding between the Undertaker's legs, exposing himself more to the torturing touch of the mortician's hand.

"Insatiable temptress," purred the older reaper, again freeing Grell's mouth so that he could nibble his ear.  He slid the material of his dress down over his shoulder when he finished undoing the back, and he teased the surface of the area just beneath Grell's shaft, caressing it with his nails to tickle his balls. He longed to cup and massage them, and he itched to tear the garment open to expose the jewels hidden beneath, but patience was a virtue.

The feel of Grell's pert little bottom pressing against his own swelling goods made Undertaker struggle with his own convictions, though.  He rubbed against him, slowly shifting his hips and sighing at the friction it created between his thighs.  One pale, rosy nipple peeked out as he dragged the top of Grell's dress down, and he fondled it to hardness, his breath quickening by the minute.

The tie fell to the floor as the redhead was no longer able to hold on to it. He bit his lower lip, feeling the Undertaker's hand on his chest. His back arched pressing himself further into the mortician's caress.  
  
"Oh.. whispering death..." Grell breathlessly uttered, his arousal, growing painful. The fabrics of his undergarments, cutting into his heated member. But the pleasure was worth the pain, worth the discomfort.  
  
Unable to help himself, his voice dripped with lust. "Do you plan... to take...ahh me here or... would you...nnnh... prefer a different venue?"

"Hmm, let's just see where the evening takes us, darlin'." Undertaker was so hard now that he felt like he could burst, but he refused to give in to his lust, just yet. He burrowed his hand beneath the top of Grell's dress to fondle the other nipple, and he brushed his thumb of his other hand over the damp spot at the tip of the redhead's erection, rubbing the material of his undergarments against it.

Grell's hand inched its way down the mortician's arm, settling atop his hand as Khronos messaged and fondled his other nipple. The feel of their hands moving as one across his bared chest was erotic and new to the redhead. No one had touched him the way this man did. His head fell back onto the mortician's shoulder once more. He writhed under the ministrations of the Undertaker's hand as his thumb teased his budding head under his skirts.  
  
"Ahh... Khronos, my love... I-I do not know....nnnh... how much more I can take." Grell panted, his nails dug into the arm of the chair. "Please touch me... ahh..." he moaned.

"Ask, and ye shall receive," purred the older reaper, and he tugged down on Grell's pantaloons to expose the full length of his swollen sex. He gripped it firmly, and he slid his hand from the tip to the root, revealing the glistening, blushing tip in full. He moved his hand back up, pausing to smear the viscous drop of fluid over the head with his thumb, and then pulled down again.  
  
He repeated the motions slowly at first, still fondling Grell's nipples one at a time. He slowly picked up speed and he reveled in the sweet sound of the redhead's hitching gasps and moans.  
  
"I'm aching for you, love," he admitted in a growl of desire, "but I won't partake in sheathing myself in you until I've finished you. I want you spent and helpless in my arms..."  
  
Undertaker decided to stop talking, before he worked himself into a frenzy.

"Uh...uh...Khronos!" he groaned, shifting in the retired reaper's lap. Grell could feel his orgasm growing, he knew it would not be much longer and he would give into his climax. His pulse was surging, beating faster than it had ever before. He clung to the chair, he felt like he was drowning. This man, this man could nearly drive him insane with pleasure. He caused reactions that Grell's body had never experienced before. His hips began to gyrate in the mortician's lap, grinding his throbbing erection against the Undertaker's hands.

"That's it, little rose," encouraged the Undertaker breathlessly. "Lovely thing, you are."  
  
He was grinding against the redhead mindlessly now, riding the very edge and positive that he was going to need a change of pants, before long. He stroked him faster, harder, and he paused in pleasuring his nipples to lick his fingertips, making them slick with saliva before continuing, so as not to rub the tightened little nubs raw.  
  
"Feel good, darlin'?" His licked and kissed Grell's neck as his efforts brought him closer to his goal...and closer to spending himself in his trousers. Sutcliff's raw, open passion and surrender was like a powerful opiate to him.

Grell nodded, biting his lip again. "Yes," he whimpered. He could no longer fight his body, ecstasy was pushing him, pushing him over the edge.  
  
"Uh.... KHRONOS!" Grell screamed as his body flung itself over the edge. He felt like he died for just a moment as he expelled his seed all over the mortician's hand. The pleasure washing over him, sweeping him away from all consciousness. His member continued to twitch and seep as more seed spilled from him. The inside of his dress coated with his own fluids. His body exhausted collapsed in his lover's arms.

Undertaker kept it up until Grell was spent, and then he lost the battle with his own lust and he held the smaller man tight, grunting an oath against his hair as he made a hot, sticky mess in his pants.  
  
"Ahh...unh...bloody H-Hell," moaned the ancient, panting. He laid his head against Grell's bared shoulder, hugging him as he caught his breath.

Turning , Grell placed a kiss to the top of the mortician's silver head. "I...I have never...been with some....someone like you. How do you....do it?" he panted, his body trembling at the mere thought of the Undertaker's hand roaming his body again.

"How do I do it?" repeated Undertaker, puzzled. "There's not really much to putting the needs of my partner before my own...or at least equal to my own. If I'm not giving you equal pleasure to mine, I may as well be going solo."  
  
He kissed him softly, sighing with satisfaction at the results of their play. "I get so much satisfaction out of hearing you call my name, love. Knowing my touch brings you to such a wild, unrestrained state of pleasure. How could I not?"

Drowsy, Grell turned in the mortician's lap, curling up into his arms. "I am beginning to be thankful that can of paint fell on me." he grinned, pressing a kiss to the retired reaper's neck.

"Especially since we managed to correct the damage before it could permanently stain," said the mortician with a smile of his own.  He cleaned Grell up as best he could with a napkin, before wiping his hand off with it.  "You might not feel so charitable, if I hadn't been able to salvage that lovely coat you so adore."  He stroked Grell's hair with one hand and held him close with the other arm.

"While I am overjoyed that my coat was salvaged, you were trying to make up for the... paint job. And I would have come around eventually." Grell smirked, nuzzling the mortician, much like a cat would. "I might have thrown a larger fit, had you not succeeded... but once I calmed, I would have seen your effort and I would have appreciated it."  
  
Lazily, the redhead opened his eyes. He began to play with the long silver braid he had pulled from the ribbon, which he had untied just moments before. "I most likely would have exploded that is true. I am a drama queen... I must admit. I just require a calm hand to quiet my raging storms. If you can have patience with me... I will melt like butter." he confessed.

The mortician smiled.  "I'm willing to put forth the effort for you, kitten.  The rewards outweigh the hardship."  He reciprocated the cheek rubbing, and his gaze strayed to the forgotten dessert.  "Hmm, feel like a nibble?" 

Undertaker leaned forward to cut a piece of the pie and set it on a plate, deftly handling the utensil with the skill of a surgeon.

Grell leaned forward, cutting a bite with the fork. "Here, my Sweet." he purred, bringing the nibble to the Undertaker's lips. "I hope it is to your liking."

The mortician opened up his mouth obligingly, allowing Grell to feed him the morsel.  He grinned as he chewed, savoring the taste of the spiced pumpkin in his mouth.  "Mmm."

Deciding that one good turn deserved another, he took the fork from Grell and reciprocated, forking up a bite to feed it to him.  "It's as good as the main entree was, my dear."

Keeping his gaze locked with the mortician's, Grell accepted the offering. Very slowly he slipped the bite from the fork. He hummed as he chewed, licking his lips clean after the pie slid down his throat.  
  
"I am glad you are enjoying your evening, and that my cooking pleases you. It is the least I could do."

Taking the fork back, Grell repeated the process. As he fed the bite to Khronos, he inquired about the body. "Love, that woman who was brought into your shop this morning... were you able to discern what truly happened to her or do you need more time to uncover her mystery?"

Undertaker swallowed his bite and briefly frowned. "I'm reluctant to draw any conclusions just yet, but I can tell you an animal attack wasn't the cause of death."

Grell turned his head to look back at the mortician.  
"Not an animal? Are you sure? Perhaps you were mistaken... no you would not, would you?"  
  
Pensively, the redhead stood up, biting the nails of his right hand. His brows furrowed as he began to think. He stopped walking as he reached the other end of the table.  
  
"Do you believe it to be a mortal act or do you suspect something of another nature?" he questioned, his back still to his new lover. His legs shook under his skirts as his heart sped up. "Do you know what time she passed away?"

"By my estimates, I'd say she passed close to midnight. I haven't found any conclusive evidence that a supernatural was her killer; if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say the dear girl met her end through another mortal. Whoever did this tried to take a little trophy, but they did a sloppy job of it. There was some haste invoked at the end. Mayhap the culprit got interrupted."  
  
Sensing how troubled the redhead was, Undertaker got up and circled around to approach him. He put his hands on Grell's shoulders, and he rubbed his arms. "Why, you're trembling, my dear! What is it?"

Shaking his head, Grell waved him off. "It's nothing, just a chill I assure you."  
  
He looked down avoiding the mortician's gaze. But in his memory he could still see the girl that Angelina had first killed. He had watched from a distance as she hacked the poor chit a part. So enraged, she hadn't cared to be precise or careful. She had been distraught and upset, tears had stained her cheeks along with the blood. The blood, it covered her and everything around her. He scolded her for being so messy, so careless. The only part of that young girl untouched was her face. Her pretty face had been left unmarred, a fact that changed once he began to school his beloved Red.

The older reaper didn't buy his reassurance.  "Your pensiveness makes my old head think there's more to it than a chill."  He thought about the gory details of the victim, and the injuries she had sustained before drawing her last breath.  It was a hack job lacking precision, but it reminded him of another string of murders committed not terribly long ago by Grell himself and his charming, troubled female companion. 

Undertaker said nothing.  His intuition only went so far, and he trusted Grell to talk to him in his own due time.  He clearly had something to work out in that pretty head of his.  Rather than try to pursue the mystery of his companion's reaction further, Undertaker coaxed him back to the chair and into his lap.

Reluctantly, Grell followed the mortician. But he didn't fight Khronos, when he pulled him back into his lap. Grell's mind was to wrapped in his reverie to realize that the Undertaker held him once more. It had been several years, but the memories came waltzing back, like it was yesterday.  
  
He had been punished severely for his activities as 'Jack the Ripper'. He had served time under observation at the dispatch medical ward. He had been reprimanded and his beloved scythe taken from him. The worse punishment had been his own mind. The days he spent locked up, he had been isolated and watched. He was left to think. Her face had repeatedly appeared before him. Watching over and over again as she lay slain by his own hand. His beautiful Madame Red. He cried so many nights, wishing he could stop himself from committing the ghastly crime. Time eventually healed his mind, his spirit. He had moved on, been allowed back into the dispatch and to continue working. Then this morning happened. That girl, that pretty young girl in the Undertaker's shop. It was as if he had been transported to that first day meeting Anne.  
Grell shook his head trying to break away from the images in his head. His eyes met the mortician's.  
  
"Hold me..just hold me." he cried, sinking against the Undertaker's chest.

Unable to refuse the plaintive request, the mortician put his arms around him and did so. The only thing more troubling than hearing the heartbreak in his voice and seeing the sparkle of tears in his eyes was his inability to comprehend his bout of sadness and do more for him.  
  
Guided by instinct, Undertaker held him as he would hold a crying child, comforting him with a gentle, reassuring presence. He rocked back and forth with him and he stroked his bright hair, letting him cry it out. He was no stranger to this. During his active duty days, it had often fallen upon him to collect the records of dying children. He'd had a way with them that the younger generations of reapers couldn't seem to master. The little ones never suffered fear or pain for long, whenever he came for them.  
  
"Whatever it is," whispered the Undertaker, "you needn't suffer alone, love."

"I was with you...when she died... you're sure?" Grell sniffled, wiping the tears away. "W-was her soul reaped? Could you t-tell if it was reaped? Or-or was it still there? Did it look like a scalpel...surgical instruments had been used on her? Why would they leave her face intact? Uterus? Was her uterus missing?" He began to ramble, questions pouring from his lips as his body continued to shake.

At once, Undertaker thought he understood. "You didn't kill this one, love. Someone from Dispatch did already collect her records, but hers was a death by mortal hands. Her face was left intact, though the uterus..."  
  
He trailed off with a thoughtful sigh. "It was left behind, but whoever killed her might have tried to take it. They lacked finesse, you see. If they intended to remove it, they did a piss-poor job of it. It was damaged in the savagery of the attack. I suspect the cutting was done by a knife. The wounds were too broad and too jagged to have been caused by a scalpel."  
  
He gave him a squeeze. "There now...shhh. It's all right."  
  
Ordinarily he held a macabre fascination with the cadavers he received for autopsies and funeral preparations, but his curiosity and concern over Grell's reaction outweighed that, now. What a perplexing creature he held in his arms! The flamboyant man had never demonstrated a shred of remorse over his victims before, but Undertaker wasn't sure this was about remorse.

"You...will stand by me then? T-that it wasn't me this time?" Grell asked, looking the mortician in the eyes. "Thank goodness, they didn't take the..." Grell sat bolt upright. "But Anne didn't use any surgical tools or remove the uterus that first time. She butchered the girl, destroyed the uterus...it was not removed. She used a dagger. That is why she was not linked to our string of murders, it was a case of happenstance. I killed the other girls, Anne just removed their uteri."  
  
Grell shook his head in disbelief. "Is it a coincidence?" He thought for a moment before speaking again. "Tell me... do you have any idea as to what was used to kill her?"

"Of course I'll vouch for you, if anyone makes an accusation," promised Undertaker, "and as for the instrument used in the murder, there was more than one. She had a knot on the back of her head and a hairline fracture, so I suspect her attacker came up behind her and stunned her with something blunt and heavy. She has stab wounds and cuts, so I s'pose they might have used a dagger or dirk, along with a keener slashing weapon. They cut her throat when they finished, so she must have been alive during most of it."

"Anne slit the whore's throat as well. Surely you would remember the chit? I know she was brought to your shop." Grell replied, meeting the mortician's gaze. He began to chew on his lower lip. "I am sorry. I-I just get a chill every time there is a murder similar to ours. There have been several copycats and I am always pulled in for questioning." Grell confided, but it was only half truth.  
  
In actuality, every time a similar case sprung up, Grell was not only brought in for questioning; he was locked up and observed for a time period. Not a jail cell, but a padded cell. Once his name was cleared he would be released and put on active duty again. The treatment in the mental ward was not the best. It was humiliating, no privacy, observed twenty four hours a day. It had been worse when he was stuck there for so many months after the 'Jack the Ripper' case. No one, not even Will, knew of what went on behind those closed doors and just the thought alone had kept the redhead on the straight and narrow. Grell shivered once more at the thought of having to spend another night there, under observation.

"Just a few maniacs out trying to make a name for themselves," reasoned Undertaker with a shrug, "because they lack the imagination to come up with anything creative on their own.  I recall the girl they brought for my examination, when the Ripper murders first began.  I thought it was strange that the first one was so savaged, but the others were done with more precision.  It wasn't hard to tie them together though, seeing as they were all missing the same thing.  By my reckoning, the first was committed in a blind rage, and after your Madame Red got a taste for blood and realized she could kill more, she became more focused...more professional, for lack of a better term."

He stroked Grell's hair and he frowned.  "Just how long do these 'questionings' persist, darlin'?  You seem awfully shaken by the prospect of another one."

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the doorbell chiming interrupted the flow of the conversation.  Undertaker straightened Grell's dress, wiped his tears away with a napkin and eased him off of his lap.  "Better answer that, love.  I'll wait here."

Grell paused and looked back at the Undertaker. He looked back with fear and sadness in his eyes. He knew who was waiting at the door. He knew they would tell him he had to be questioned, that he would have to go with them. And if his suspicion was right, then the girl who laid in the mortician's mortuary, had not been on the to-die list.  
  
He swallowed and nodded at his guest. Not really wanting to answer the door, Grell turned and headed out of the dinning area.  
  
"Just breathe. You were not alone last night. You have someone to vouch for you this time." Grell reassured himself, painting a smile in his face as he turned the door knob.  
  
"Good evening gentlemen. What can I do you for?" Grell asked looking at both men.  
  
Standing on his door step was Wilhelm Wundt, the head of the psychiatric ward of the dispatch medical ward and his boss, William T. Spears, supervisor of the Grim Reapers Dispatch Association. Two psychiatric nurses stood behind them. Of course, the nurses were more muscle than anything else. They always accompanied Wilhelm and William. They were there in case Grell needed to be subdued and carried off.  
  
Both men stared back at the redhead, but it was Will who spoke first. "I am sure Mister Sutcliff you are well aware of our presence here this evening."  
  
"And what if I say that I am not?" Grell retorted, glaring back at the two men. His legs felt like jelly as butterflies began to take flight deep inside his belly. He held tightly to the door frame for support. He tried to appear unaffected by their presence, by standing tall. The truth was he found it quite difficult to pull off. The two men simply were just to terribly off-putting.

Undertaker came up behind the redhead, drawn to the sound of the voices his sharp hearing had picked up from the dining room.  Seeing Spears and his companions there, he smiled—but the smile was full of quiet menace, the teeth grinning in the manner of a cat about to tear a bird apart.

"Well, what have we here?  The Dispatch supervisor and...sorry chaps...I don't recognize the rest of you."

At the sight of the legendary reaper looming over Grell's shoulder, William's demeanor visibly softened with surprise and respect.  "Good evening, sir.  Please don't concern yourself; this has nothing to do with you."  His eyes flashed and hardened coldly as they turned to Grell again.  "I had no idea you were entertaining, this evening.  It is unfortunate that your plans must be cut short, Sutcliff.  You know the routine, so please avoid making an un-necessary scene."

"You'll have to come with us, Officer Sutcliff," added the doctor.  "Resisting implies guilt, you know."

Undertaker stepped between the uninvited reapers and Grell, shielding the redhead from them with his own towering, uncommonly dapper form.  When he spoke, his voice completely lacked the usual cockney accent and scratchy tone.  It was a low growl, and he spoke with perfect, elegant enunciation.  "He won't be setting one foot out this door, until you explain your purpose.  If your goons attempt to force the issue, you will be seeing a demonstration of why Dispatch was never able to take my scythe from me, upon retirement." 

Grell stepped back, surprised to have Undertaker there. He hadn't expected him to walk up behind him, let alone step between him and the other reapers. The redhead listened intently to their exchange.  
  
"Sir...please step aside. This matter does not concern you." The doctor made the polite request, not wishing to have an altercation.  
  
The redhead tried to peek around the mortician, but his broad shoulders were to wide for Grell to see around. He was forced to listen and listen alone.  
  
"Mister Undertaker we only wish to ask Mister Sutcliff some questions," explained William, adjusting his glasses.  "There was a unscheduled death last night and we wish to rule him out of the matter."

"Then you can question him here and 'rule him out' now," said the mortician, his voice still uncommonly stern and commanding. "I know exactly which death you're speaking of, and I can assure you that Grell had no part in it. He was with me last night, and most of the day as well. He was in my shop when they brought the body to me for examination, in fact."  
  
Undertaker brushed imaginary lint from William's shoulder, smiling like a shark at him. "I'll provide Dispatch with the autopsy and Miss Sutcliff's alibi if necessary, but I won't have you dragging him out of his home unwillingly."

The supervisor's eye twitched. "Sutcliff was here... with you all night?" he inquired, surprised at the retired reaper's admission.  
  
Grell took that as his cue and sauntered up to the Undertaker, hooking his arm with the legend's. "Yes Will... but it was not here at my place, rather his shop. And if you want to ask me questions, you are more than welcome to come in and do so. However, I can assure you I know nothing of said murder." The redhead spoke with an edge of indifference to his voice.  
  
He looked between his boss and the not-so-good doctor. "Now gentlemen, either come in and ask your questions or leave us be. We were in the middle of dessert and I do hate being disturbed when I am enjoying 'sticky buns'." Grell, nearly purred the last bit as he looked up at his lover, before glancing back at the men on his doorstep, his hand petting the mortician's arm.  
  
"Well gentlemen? What will it be? In or out?" Grell asked, growing agitated.

For a moment, it looked like William might refuse to leave. He looked at Undertaker, then at Grell, and he huffed. "There will be a full investigation, and if any evidence is found that could lead to you as a suspect, you _will_ be brought in for questioning."  
  
He straightened his tie and gave a little bow for Undertaker's benefit. "Please excuse the interruption, and have a pleasant evening."  
  
He nodded at his companions and turned away, taking his entourage with him.

Wilhelm stopped mid step and turned back to the redhead. "Miss Sutcliff; one thing before I leave."  
  
He leaned in and whispered in Grell's ear, "My dear, I am not that easily convinced. I shall be watching you. You are mine ' _Erdbeere_ '. I am no where near through with you." He smiled ruefully at the redhead. Backing down the steps, he made his way to Will and the two brutes.  
  
Grell stood frozen in place, watching the men walk down the path and out his gate. Once they were out of sight, he turned to the mortician. Without a word, he wrapped his shaking arms around the Undertaker's waist and he buried his face against his chest. He felt nauseous inside and disgusted. Just the feel of the doctor's breath on his skin made him feel unclean.

Sensing the sudden shift in Grell's demeanor, Undertaker wrapped his arms protectively around his lover and he frowned suspiciously at the Shinigami doctor as he left. He wanted to grab the strange man and demand to know what that was all about, but right now, Grell needed his attention more. The poor thing was shivering worse than he'd been earlier, when they discussed the murdered girl and the Ripper case.  
  
He had sharper hearing than most though, due to years of honing his other senses to make up for his loss of vision. He'd gone for so long without use of his glasses that his hearing was like a bat's, his sense of smell was like a hound's and his sense of touch was as acute as a feline's.  
  
When they were gone and the door was shut, Undertaker looked down at the trembling redhead in his arms and he asked a simple, gentle question of him, operating on a hunch spurred by what he'd caught of the doctor's cryptic words, and Grell's reaction to them.  
  
"Does dear William know that his medical staff took abusive liberties with you while under their 'care', love?"

Dropping his head and shaking it, Grell answered. "No. William has no idea. No one knows except for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb... the two neanderthals you saw. They follow him every where."  
  
He peered back up at Khronos, his hands still resting upon the taller reaper's chest. "Please say nothing to Will.... to no one?" He pleaded. He was embarrassed that the Undertaker had uncovered the truth or at least part of the truth. There was more, much more, but the redhead was not ready to speak further on the matter. Possibly never.

The ancient considered the matter, his head warring with his heart. "It's not my place to tell your associates your business, but if they get their hooks into you again and put you in the hands of that doctor, I'm afraid I'll need to have a word with your superior."  
  
He caressed the upturned face, hating the way Grell's wide eyes implored him so fearfully. "Spears is remiss to turn you over to a mind hacker that obviously doesn't have your best interests at heart. Either your supervisor is more of a sadistic scut than I suspected, or he's completely blind to what's really going on when they lock you up."  
  
Undertaker rubbed Grell's back and he lowered his mouth to his for a tender kiss. "I know you don't want to talk about it love, and that's fine. Just so you know I'm a protective sort, and I'll do what I think needs doing to keep you safe."

Playing with the Undertaker's lapel, Grell became antsy. He wore a tiny smile on his face. "I am sorry dessert was ruined. Would you like some tea or-or can I get you something else? Perhaps a spirit? I have a variety in my liquor cabinet." Grell rattled off. His smiled faded as he pouted up at the mortician. An awkward giggle escaped him as he stepped back from the mortician. His skirts sloshing behind him as he walked back into the dinning room.  
  
He strode straight to the table and picked up the dessert plate and fork as well as the serving piece.

He headed to the kitchen to deposit them, where he would wash them later, along with the dinner and cooking dishes. But the moon caught his eye through the small window above the sink. He stood staring up at it. It was a crescent moon lying on it's back. Even it seemed to mock him as it smiled down at him.  
  
The redhead glared back at the moon. "Don't mock me... leave me be."

Something in Grell's behavior disturbed Undertaker deeply.  It was if the mere mention of the implications behind the doctor's interaction with him had triggered something within him.  He was either in denial, or something had been done to him.  He'd followed him in the kitchen to help and upon seeing him staring at the moon and hearing him accusing it of mocking him, Undertaker felt a chill go up his spine.

Grell was unhinged; this was not uncommon knowledge.  Undertaker himself was a nut shy of a bushel, and he honestly believed everyone was a little mad on some level.  He was the last person alive that would look down on anyone for being insane, but this just didn't seem right.  As he watched his lover stare up at the moon, his expression darkened and he silently vowed to find out just what that oily doctor had done to him...and make him pay for it in ways most people could scarcely imagine.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Hearing the mortician walk in behind him, Grell painted a smile on his face. He was determined to not let the "good" doctor ruin his evening completely. He spun around, meeting the Undertaker's gaze.  
  
"Did you make a decision? What is it I can get you?" The redhead inquired. Slowly he stalked his lover, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "...or would you much prefer something else?" He suggested, his hands sliding up the Undertaker's torso.  
  
The mortician affixed an equally forced smile on his lips, distracted by the possibilities raging through his mind. Fortunately, his mouth was so trained to smile under any circumstance that it came easily to him and appeared natural.  
  
"I think I'd like a brandy, darlin', if you've got it."  
  
Styx, he thought he could probably knock back a few, right now. He hadn't been prepared for how strongly and completely his protective instincts flared up for this reaper. He didn't believe in love at first sight, nor did he tend to fall for lovers as soon as he bedded them...but there was definitely something there beyond lust. He had the self-awareness and intuition to know it would blossom into real love, if he nurtured it.  
  
The question was, could he _survive_ loving someone like Grell Sutcliff that way? The Undertaker was already off his rocker to begin with. He wasn't sure he needed someone driving him even more insane.  
  
"Brandy..." Grell looked past the Undertaker. "Yes...yes I do believe I have a bottle." He hid his disappointment, trying to sound normal as he stepped around the mortician. "Where would you like to take it? The salon?" he inquired, pausing at the door.  
  
Grell began to fidget with his bodice. He felt neglected, passed over for liquor. Doubts began to flood his mind. _~The interruption, did it turn him off? He said he would protect me, but does he truly still want me? I am being paranoid we barely know each other...yet.~_  
  
"Wherever you like, Grell." The Undertaker was finding it dreadfully hard to maintain his cheerful front; it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach to imagine what sort of things that man had done to his delicate rose while he had him in custody. Roses had thorns, though. He'd seen Grell in action before and he knew he was no pushover...which actually made the possibilities regarding how that weasely doctor could have subdued him even more sickening. He didn't want to push for answers, but he couldn't protect his love interest if he didn't understand what he was protecting him _from_.  
  
"Love, pour yourself a stiff one too," he said decisively, losing the droll outer layer entirely. He turned around and he stepped up behind the redhead, rubbing his arms and kissing the crown of his head. "I think we should have a serious talk."  
  
Grell looked up, over his shoulder, at the older reaper. "Whatever about?" The redhead asked, searching his eyes.  
  
"Let's just get the drinks ready first and sit down, lovely. This may be a hard chat for you." Undertaker hated to ask a traumatized soul to part with things he preferred to keep swept under the rug, but this wasn't about satisfying simple curiosity. This was imperative, for his purpose.  
  
The redhead's stomach flipped. He a bad feeling, but he took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright," he sighed, "The liquor cabinet is in the salon. I already have a fire started in there, but I am sure it needs to be stoked. Would you mind... while I fix your drink? As for me, I do not partake in hard liquor."  
  
Slowly, Grell pivoted around to face the mortician. "I will try to answer whatever questions you have; but please do not press me to hard." He then turned, heading out of the kitchen.  
  
"Of course," agreed the older reaper.  
  
The Undertaker went into the indicated room and he stoked the fireplace. He glanced over at Grell as he sat down on the love seat to wait for him. The redhead was moving like an automation. Nothing had been right about his behavior since the visit from Dispatch. He moved like he was detached, and the mortician began to feel like he was losing him before he even had him.  
  
"Sit down here with me, darlin'," he said when Grell finished pouring a glass of brandy and the another with red wine. He patted the spot beside him invitingly. "I'm only going to be asking you things that I feel I must know, if I'm to protect you from Dispatch."  
  
Grell handed the mortician his drink. He smiled shyly as he sat down next to Khronos. He felt nervous, afraid. He crossed his legs and made himself as comfortable as possible. Eyes fixated on the swirling, garnet liquid in his goblet.  
_  
~I know what he is going to ask. How much do I say? Will he want me if I tell him? Hear the man out first Sutcliff. You don't even know what he will ask. He says he wants to protect you. Trust him.~ In his mind Grell was trying to fight the panic that was building inside him. Fears, doubts, they all were surfacing. He wrapped his free hand around his tummy. His stomach twisting in knots. ~Please do not let me get sick.~_  
  
Undertaker took a swallow of brandy, hardly tasting it as he reached out to stroke Grell's hair soothingly. "First thing I want you to know, love, is that besides yourself, Vivian was the only person I ever shared my given name of choice with. Anderson--the reaper you young folk call 'Pops'' or 'Father''--is the only living one of our kind left that still remembers a time when I used to answer to the name 'Khronos'. I don't share that name lightly, and I've revealed a side of myself to you that I've kept bottled up inside since before you even became a reaper. I don't know what's between you and I yet, but it's powerful. Maybe it really does make me mad as a hatter, but I can't walk away from it. I want you to know that, before we start."  
  
The wine in his glass stopped swirling. Grell closed his eyes. When he opened them, he rotated his body, so that he sat on the edge, facing the Undertaker. Carefully he stretched across the mortician's lap and sat the goblet on the table next to the settee. With his hands free, he placed them on his lover's chest.  
  
"Khronos? Do you honestly mean that? Do you truly feel something between us? It isn't me alone?" His eyes sparkled in the firelight as the questions fell from his lips, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes searched the Undertaker's eyes long and hard, afraid he had misunderstood the older reaper.  
  
The mortician caressed Grell's fine-boned features with gentle fingertips, and he nodded. "Death help me, I think there might be. I can't explain why, love...all I know is I felt a fierce need to defend you when Spears showed up earlier with that doctor, and maybe I would have anyway if I'm wrong about our connection, but I doubt I'd feel this...churning rage...at the thought of that man getting his hands on you. I need you to tell me what he's done to you, Grell, and how much sway he's got with Dispatch."  
  
Grell lowered his head, "I honestly have no idea how much sway he as with the Dispatch... nor do I know how he treats his other patients. I just... he is cruel!" He blurted out.  
  
"He is sick and abuses his rights as a doctor." Grell's face contorted as he snarled. "And his goons are always there, helping him."  
  
Agitated, the redhead abruptly stood and walked to the hearth. He placed his hand on the mantle for support as he stared down at the leaping flames. He clutched his stomach with his free hand. "He says I am special... an-and that I belong to him. He calls me Erdbeere...his Strawberry. I cannot even look at the fruit anymore. They remind me of him and make me sick."  
  
Undertaker felt a bit queasy, himself. "Did this start right away, from the very first time you were detained?"  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Grell shook his head. "The first two weeks I was detained for the Ripper case, was spent in the Reaper prison....Pending my hearing and psych evaluation."  
  
He spun around and looked over at the Undertaker. Debating whether he could go on, if he could say more. His memory was not always reliable, when he thought back to the nine months he was in the psychiatric ward. There were gaps; holes if you like in his memory. He only had feelings and glimpses of the missing pieces. If he mentioned that, would Khronos believe him? Even Grell was not sure if he could believe himself. And as much as he would love to remember everything, he was also terrified of what he might uncover.  
  
"Take your time, love," encouraged the mortician gently.  
  
Grell nodded, "Doctor Wilhelm Wundt." He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "He was assigned to evaluate me. Being in a holding cell at the prison; well at least there I was treated like a reaper."  
  
Pausing, Grell looked to the floor. He began to chew on the inside of his mouth. "Wundt deemed me incompetent. He said that I had been brain washed by the mortal Durless and that I needed to be treated, not punished." A sob racked through him. "I was not brain washed. I had fallen in love. But I, at the time, had not yet come to regret killing her. I-I was still angry with her. Wundt, said I was sick for having feelings for a mortal and they were not real."  
  
"Nonsense," snorted the Undertaker. Having loved a mortal woman once himself, he could identify with Grell. "He's a quack. There isn't a cure for love and it doesn't distinguish between mortals and death gods. What was his suggested 'treatment'?"  
  
"Well...I can tell you that wasn't what was put in my official record." Grell scoffed, walking back to the settee. He stopped in front of the Undertaker. "Nine months..."  
  
Picking his goblet up, the redhead took a swig of wine before continuing. He rolled his tongue, sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. Grell swallowed, "That was all the judge at my hearing would allow him. He said that should be more than enough time to treat me. So I was released into Wundt's hands, for the treatment of brainwashing and addiction to blood. At least, that is what my record states. I should know. The minute I was released, I marched into William's office, demanding to know why I was sent to the ward."  
  
Grell took another sip of his wine, then waved his goblet around. "Alright, maybe not the _minute_ I was released. But when I felt strong enough I did. Will showed me my record. The bloody doctor didn't treat me. He used me! He-he." Unable to control his emotions any longer, Grell broke down and began to cry.  
  
Undertaker got off the couch and put his arms around him. He had a feeling by the way Grell broke down that sexual violations might have been a part of it. Biting back a string of profanities, he tried to calm his anger and comfort him.  
  
"Easy now," he soothed as gently as possible. "It's over now, love."  
  
But that wasn't really true, and he knew it. It never truly ended, for rape survivors. Vivian had been violated too, and it took a long time for her to stop trembling instinctively, with each initial romantic touch. She always apologized to him, despite his reassurances that he wasn't offended. Her experience had awakened a primal fear of men in her, and Undertaker was the only one she came to trust, afterwards.  
  
Grell didn't shy away from his touch, but that didn't mean he wasn't violated at some point. It was different for each individual, he supposed.  
  
"I won't let him touch you again," promised the ancient, "and I'll do what I can to see him punished for this."  
  
"Punished...!" Grell laughed as he backed from the Undertaker's arms. "That son of a bitch? Ha...! No one would believe me."  
  
"Grell Sutcliff... The insane redhead!" He scowled at the mortician. "Do you honestly believe that-that pop-in-jay will be caught? Punished?"  
  
In a fit of temper built from anger and pain, Grell turned and threw his glass of wine at the hearth. The fire roared, instantly filling the room with a wave of heat as the red liquid was absorbed by the flames. The goblet shattering as it hit the back wall of the fire place, splintering the glass to sparkle like diamonds in the grate.  
  
"Enough."  
  
The ancient didn't raise his voice, but his tone held the weight of command behind it, ingrained in him from years long past as a veteran. It bore no resemblance at all to his "mortician" voice.  
  
The salon sat on the same side of the house as the kitchen. Turning from the mortician, Grell stumbled over to the window. The wine was impairing his cognitively. He collapsed on the window seat and peered at the moon.  
  
"It mocks me... just as it did that first night." He muttered, rotating his head to look back at the Undertaker. "You won't want me either. Not when you learn what he did to me."  
  
Grell leaned against the pane of glass. "They came in the middle of the night. To...you know...take me to the loony bin." His hand began to trace circles on the window glass. "I was all alone in that section of the prison. No one heard them enter my cell. The warden was...well actually, I have no idea where the warden was. I just remember being grabbed. A gag was forced into my mouth and as I threw my head back, there was the moon, smiling back at me. Grinning wide... as though it knew what hell I was heading for and relishing that knowledge. The last thing I remember was the feeling of something being jabbed into my neck. A needle...? Yes that was what it was; a needle. He drugged me. I later awoke, naked in the ward."  
  
Undertaker listened with his head tilted and his ancient eyes softened with sympathy. Hearing this account made him feel helpless all over again, and the gruffness he'd used to settle the redhead down faded in the wash of compassion he felt for him. "Is that what you think, rose? That I would not want you, for something that was beyond your control?"  
  
He approached him again, embracing him slowly and carefully from behind. He spoke into his ear, his gaze lifting to the moon beaming down outside. "The moon doesn't care one way or the other, love...but I do," he whispered, before planting a tender kiss there, "and it may take time, but Wundht _will_ receive his just desserts. We'll see to it, together. I just need you to be brave for me, kitten. Brave and fierce, like the lunatic I know you can be—and that's a compliment, by the way."  
  
"I feel... sleepy," yawned the redhead. He laid his head in the crook of the mortician's arm. His eyes fluttering shut.  
  
Growing accustomed to the mercurial shifts in Grell's demeanor, Undertaker smiled. "You've relived a trying experience. Let ol' Undertaker put you to bed, hmm?"  
  
"Yes, bed. That sounds wonderful." Grell nuzzled the mortician's arm.  
  
Undertaker took his cue, and he scooped Grell up in his arms, bride style. "Which way to the bedroom, lovely?"  
  
"Up the stairs, turn left and immediately left again. Go straight through the-the....aha.. door ahead of you." Grell yawned, nestling his head against the mortician's shoulder. "I'm sorry for loosing my temper as...aha.... as well."  
  
"Think nothing of it." Undertaker nuzzled his bright hair and started for the staircase. "You were reliving a traumatic experience. I know it wasn't directed at me."  
  
He carried him up the stairs and followed his directions to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot. Shifting Grell in his arms for a more secure hold, he brought him inside and he laid him down on the big canopy bed against the back wall.  
  
Grell's boudoir was of moderate size. Its walls were garnet with gold trims, bordering along the ceiling and around the window frame. The floor was covered in soft sandy colored carpet, a nice offset to the darkness of the room. The furniture was cherry wood and built to be sturdy. A fireplace was off to the side of his bed. The mantle in matching cherry wood, with gold highlights. Dark green tiles with red roses lay as the base of the hearth. Pictures adorned the mantle. Most were painting portraits, but there were a few photographs as well. His bed was a four poster with canopy. Heavy drapes were drawn back on the sides. They were dark green with a red rose print on them, matching the tiles of the hearth as well as the drapes that were pulled back by gold color chords, on the grand windows across from his bed. Moon light flooded the room. The windows were etched with black iron panels, creating the shape of diamonds in them.  
  
Another door sat off to the side of the fireplace, it lead to the washroom. Two nightstands sat on either side of the large bed. A beautiful green comforter lay across the bed, again with the matching rose print that seemed to adorn everything in the room, and his sheets were garnet, below. Running the length below the window was a window seat, covered in red and green cushions. Its base was a book shelf, full, housing a good number of books. On the other side of the room was a large armoire. The room was dark, creating a cozy and romantic feel about it. It Represented the redhead's personality to a tee.  
  
Grell's eyes opened as he felt the bed beneath him and reached a hand out. Gently, his fingers encircled the mortician's wrist. "Please don't leave me?" The request was genuine. He was afraid to be alone and he felt safe knowing the retired reaper was by his side.  
  
Undertaker smiled down at him. "Wasn't planning to, love," he assured, and he began to remove the redhead's shoes and stockings. "Let's just get the both of us a bit more comfortable, eh?"  
  
He kept his touch light and gentle; not sexual. He reckoned the last thing Grell needed after revealing what had happened to him was someone making advances on him. He lifted Grell's foot after peeling the stockings off, and he kissed his foot before dropping it to the bed and removing his own shoes and socks. He took off his tie and lay down with his lover, holding him close.  
  
"I'll stay all night if you want, my dear," he murmured into his hair.  
  
"Yes...yes..." Another yawn caused the redhead to pause, before he could finish his sentence. His lids were growing heavier and it was becoming harder for him to stay awake. "Please stay... and-and would you mind untying my laces. I-I do not...aha... think I should sleep in my corset and b-bustle."  
  
Nodding in understanding, Undertaker sat up and he helped his companion into a sitting position, too. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he undid the items and helped him out of them. He got up to put them safely on the window seat, and he considered the armoire. "Do you have a night gown you'd like to change into, lovely?"  
  
"Top-top drawer of my chest of drawers....aha.... next to the armoire. There.... there you will find my...." Grell had begun to reply as he snuggled up into his stash of pillows. But then a gentle snore wafted from the bed as he drifted off to sleep.  
  
Undertaker watched him for a moment, and he debated inwardly over whether he should change him while he slept. He had no intention of taking advantage of him, but the redhead was a bit in his cups and if he woke up in something he didn't go to sleep in, he might wonder if something untoward had happened. Deciding it was best to leave him be, Undertaker tucked him in and joined him, holding him close and stroking his hair until he too slipped into dreams.

 

* * *

 

Hours passed as the pair of reapers slept, but in the early hours before dawn the redhead began to moan. His dreams became frightening and he started to toss and turn.  
  
Fog covered London—as it usually did in the wintertime, casting shadows around every corner. Grell had been sent to collect the soul of a prostitute in the dreary East end. The smell of waste and decay made his stomach turn sour. He plugged his nose with his fingers as he wandered down the dark passageways. A black cat hissed as it ran out in front of him, making him jump back, startled.  
  
"Damn cat! Have you no manners? Scaring a lady like that. Shame on you!" He scolded as he continued on his way.  
  
Coming to an intersection, Grell paused. He looked down both ways. An eerie green light glowed to his right. It was coming from the end of the alley. Curious, he turned the corner. The sound of clanking metal filled the air as he grew closer to the dead-end a head of him, but despite the green light he could not make out any shapes. The sounds of moaning and crying began to echo off the walls surrounding him.  
  
"Hello?! Is-is someone there?" He called out. To which there was no reply.  
  
Gradually he moved closer to the sound. A woman's voice…she was giggling.  
  
"Grell, come here darling. I have a present for you. Its wrapped in your favourite colour." The woman called to him, enticing him. Her voice was familiar and yet he could not recall hearing it before.  
  
The redhead replied, his voice quaking. "Who are you? I c-cannot see you. Do I..." He stopped where he stood as a figure began to approach him. "Red?" He gasped. He started to run forward only to realize he did not recognize the person standing in front of him. Yes she was dressed and resembled his beloved Madame Red, but it was not her.  
  
He summoned his scythe, prepared to fight, to defend himself if need be. Something felt off, something was wrong.  
  
"Grell don't your recognize me? Or has death been unkind to me?" She asked as she stepped into the light. Her face was rotted and maggots fell from her lips as she spoke. The bones of her fingers protruded from the skin on her hands. "Grell don't you want me anymore? I killed her especially for you. Remember how you loved blood so much... how you wanted to make them look pretty in their own colour of red." The figure pointed to a corpse lying behind her. The eerie green light fell upon the body of the dead girl in the mortician's shop.  
  
"Come now darling... she needs you. I need you, Grell. My handsome, incompetent butler." She purred, reaching out to take his hand.  
  
"Stay away from me. You are not my Red. She's... she's dead! Don't touch me!" The redhead yelled as he began to back away from her. His body collided with something solid. Slowly he turned around. "NO! Not you two!" He exclaimed, his eyes falling on Wundt's two goons. "What are you doing here? If you're here then...."  
  
"That's right Grell. It's time for your treatment." Wundt's voice rang in his ear as a cold hand touched his warm cheek.  
  
Grell revved his chainsaw, "Don't touch me!" He snapped. Twirling around he swung his scythe, only to slice through air. His eyes darted to and fro, scanning for the doctor. A sharp pain pierced the back of his neck. Grell dropped his scythe, grabbing at his neck. His eyes glossing over. The sound of approaching foot steps catching his attention. He looked up as the Undertaker came into view.  
  
"Khronos?" He whispered, his knees buckling from under him. He landed hard against the cold brick pavement. His eyes fluttering as the drug began to take affect. The feel of hands grabbing at him as he began to call to his new lover, "Khronos! H-help me!"  
  
His eyes shot wide as he saw a figure appear behind the mortician. A wide grin was carved into Wundt's lips as his scythe materialized in his hand. The bright yellow handle of a spade gleamed in the green light, making it almost appear luminescent. Its edge was jagged, an altered scythe.  
  
Grell let out a blood-curdling scream as the doctor brought the scythe down into his lover's back, piercing his reaper's soul. Cinematic records flooding the darkened night.  
  
"KHRONOS!" The scream reverberated off the dark walls of Grell's bedroom. The redhead shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat. His entire body shaking. He was naked to the waist, his pantaloons still covering his lower half. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his hair clung to his face.  
  
Undertaker jerked awake with a start, shaken out of more pleasant dreams than those tormenting his companion. He sat up and took Grell into his arms immediately, guessing by the wild, staring eyes that he was still one foot in whatever nightmare had drawn the scream from his lips.  
  
"Grell...shh, I'm here," he soothed, stroking the disheveled crimson hair out of the younger reaper's eyes. "Calmly now; come back to me. That's it, just look into my eyes."  
  
He was encouraged when the fear-dilated gaze locked with his, and he kept his voice low, soothing and confident. "You're safe, love. Whatever demons are haunting your dreams can't get you here."  
  
With a trembling hand, the redhead touched the mortician's cheek. "I... you... h-he... you're..." Not another word passed Grell's lips, instead he pulled the Undertaker to him, crushing their mouths together. He needed to feel him, to know he was real. He needed to know that he was still alive.  
  
Undertaker returned the kiss, curious as to what he'd dreamt about. He was concerned, but the desperate passion of Grell's kiss made a different emotion rise within him, and he tried to quell it out of courtesy for the redhead's recent trauma. This wasn't the time to let his cock do the thinking.  
  
Grell broke the kiss and sat back, just staring at the mortician. He brushed the silver bangs from the man's face, so he could look him in the eye. "Y-you're not dead." Panted the redhead, trying to catch his breath. "H-he tried to-to take you from... me."  
  
Undertaker smiled and caressed his face. "No, I'm not dead. It was only a dream, my dear. I haven't gone anywhere."  
  
"I-I am s-so sorry. You don't deserve to be... dragged into all of this." Grell swallowed, still finding his breath escaping him. His heart was still racing and goose bumps sprang up over his exposed flesh. He shivered as the cool night air kissed his damp skin.  
  
"Nonsense," countered Undertaker. "I'm here because I want to be, darlin'. Simple as that."  
  
He kissed the redhead's trembling lips and pulled the covers up around Grell, hugging him close to warm him. "I could have walked away at any time, but there's something between you and I. The injustice done to you demands restitution be paid; but right now, my first priority is keeping you out of that weasel's hands. Well, that and snuggling. I do enjoy the snuggles."  
  
He gave Grell a little squeeze and a playful smile, trying to take his mind off of his nightmare.  
  
Grell nuzzled the Undertaker. "I love to snuggle too. Especially with a handsome reaper like yourself." The redhead smiled, strumming his fingers down the mortician's chest. "But I can't h-help it. There was a warning in the way Wundt... the way he called my... I mean the way he whispered his pet name in my ear."  
  
Sitting up right, Grell's eyes met the Undertaker's. "He is up to something. I can sense it...feel it. I don't like it, either. I want to know what the bastard is up to."  
  
"Then we'll find out," insisted the Undertaker, "after you've rested up. You're going to need all your wits to deal with this craven apple-john, and so will I. The question I have for you is whether you'd like to do it subtle-like, or go after him directly? The former is better for your career, but it will take time and frustration, and there is no guarantee that Dispatch will take your side. The latter is better for quick results, but it will doubtless result in you becoming not only an outcast like myself, but a fugitive. If you want my advice, you'll take a few days to think about it before deciding which path you want to take, love."  
  
Grell looked down, the memory of the doctors lingering touch on his cheek. "I just want him to disappear. I just don't want to see him ever again. His touch..." The crimson reaper's head snapped back up, peering into the mortician's eyes. "I just want to forget his touch."  
  
Delicately, Grell laid his hand on top of the Undertaker's. Gradually he lifted it, placing it flat against his chest. He softly spoke his voice full of desperation. "Help me forget it?"  
  
The mortician looked down at the hand that was now lying against Grell's pale chest, with the crimson reaper's elegant, slim hand resting over it. He looked into Grell's eyes, searchingly. "I can't make you forget it," he answered with regret, "but I can try to give you a different touch to remember, whenever those dark memories creep up on you...a loving one."  
  
He slowly stroked his palm over the flat, lean expanse of Grell's bare chest, keeping his eyes locked with his. "And if at any time you need me to stop, my dear, just say so and I shall."  
  
He cupped Grell's chin with his free hand, gently tilting his head to the side to bare his neck for his lips. He nuzzled the spot beneath the redhead's ear before pressing his lips more firmly against it. He felt Grell's pulse beneath his lips, his heartbeat beneath his palm. Khronos moved with infinite care, wary of triggering him. Grell had been wildly passionate during each encounter they'd shared thus far, but that was before that doctor showed his slimy face and set him off.  
  
"I'm with you, love," whispered Undertaker against the silken skin of Grell's neck. "Feel me."  
  
He let his hand slowly glide lower over the redhead's chest, while the other one stroked his hair. He worshiped his throat with his lips, determined not to rush it.  
  
"Yes... I understand." He whispered breathlessly. Grell's eyes closed, his hands resting gently on the Undertaker's chest. "I... only want to ever feel your touch on my body." With each kiss the mortician bestowed, the fire between Grell's legs grew.  
  
  
Slowly, Grell slid his left hand down the Undertaker's body. His fingers, feathering over each muscle, each scar. "Tell me... how did you get this... ahh... scar?" He asked, moaning. His index finger ran up the scar on the mortician's abdomen.  
  
"That one was left by a former associate's death scythe," answered the mortician softly, pressing a kiss on Grell's collarbone. "As were the rest. I wouldn't be parted from my scythe, you see."  
  
The hand stroking Grell's hair glided down to the small of his back, the long nails skimming gently over the redhead's skin.  
  
"Is it really that important to you? That you would not only risk your..." He paused, opening his eyes. He gently pushed the mortician back so he could look at him. Grell's eyes locked onto the Undertaker's, a tiny giggle bubbled up from his very depths. "Of course you would, wouldn't you? Risk your immortal life to keep that scythe of yours."  
  
"Wouldn't you do the same?" challenged the ancient with a smirk. "The longer we use them, the more attached to our scythes we become. Don't tell me the bloody red reaper would quietly hand his chainsaw over, if Dispatch tried to take it away forever. I've had Skull since the first of us were created. Giving him up would have been like losing a limb."  
  
"Touché! Dispatch would have to pry her from my cold, dead hands." The redhead conceded. "However... that does not stop Pigeon from confiscating my beloved toy from time to time. At least he takes good care of my baby and returns her unharmed to me... that is when my suspensions are fulfilled." He chuckled slightly.  
  
Grell's fingers began to wander further down the mortician's body, following a scar that dipped below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. His eyebrow lifted. "So you say all of these scars were created from a fight with a reaper over your... 'Skull' as you call it." He inquired, biting his lower lip.  
  
"More than one reaper," answered the mortician, his voice going husky as Grell's questing touch came steadily nearer to the source of his arousal. "They came for me shortly after I resigned from Dispatch. The glasses I was willing to part with, seeing as I'd already given them up. Can't say the same for ol' Skull, though. He's part of me now."  
  
He stroked Grell's inner thigh and began to kiss his neck softly. "Two of them didn't live through it. The other survived, but I was the only one that could crawl away by the end."  
  
He said it matter-of-fact, with no tone of arrogance or pride. It was what it was, and he'd buried it in the past along with so many other memories.  
  
Tipping his head back, exposing more of his neck, Grell let his lids fall closed. "Is that so? Were you not... umm... punished for such insubordination?" He asked, gulping.  
  
Grell dipped his hand below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. The tips of his fingers brushing up against his hardened arousal. Still they moved further down, till his palm came to rest over the soft, heated flesh of the mortician's throbbing shaft.  
  
Undertaker barely suppressed a groan of need, pushing into the redhead's touch and kissing his skin more urgently. "They tried, but I had some connections with the right folk. They eventually decided that so long as I didn't...break any dictates of our...society, it wasn't worth the trouble. My old...reputation helped some."  
  
His breath caught as Grell's hand started to move, and he retracted his nails and slipped his hand into the redhead's undergarments to return the favor.  
  
Grell reached down with his free hand and pulled the Undertaker's hand from his pantaloons. "Lay back." He whispered, slipping his own hand from the mortician's pants.  
  
The ancient readily complied, relaxing against the pillows. "Whatever you desire, rose. I'm all yours."  
  
Carefully the redhead lowered himself atop the mortician. Placing his hands on each side of the Undertaker's head, Grell pressed his lips tenderly to the retired reaper's. Gradually his tongue began to beg for entrance, his body heat increasing, desiring to dance with his lover's tongue.  
  
His cock grew longer and harder as he rubbed it against the Undertaker's own stiffened length. He moaned into the kiss, then whispered, "Don't be afraid to... ahh... touch me."  
  
Undertaker was already sliding his hands over Grell's hips with a lover's caress. He parted his lips to allow entry to his mouth, giving the redhead his silent consent to explore at his leisure. His hands curved inward, following the lines of Grell's pelvic bones until he felt the crisp, springy hair framing his groin.  
  
Tongue fondling the redhead's, he gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and slipped the other beneath to palm the sack there. He began to massage them both, gripping his own swollen length along with Grell's.  
  
For just a moment, Grell broke the kiss. His eyes peered down at his lover. "Remove my pantaloons and touch only me." He commanded, nipping the mortician's bottom lip, before his tongue dove back into the Undertaker's mouth.  
  
Grinning at the command, the older reaper did as he was bidden. He helped to balance the redhead as he slipped the garment off of him, and once Grell was straddling him again, he resumed his fondling. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the head of Grell's arousal and he sucked gently on his tongue as it pushed back into his mouth.  
  
If his lover wanted to control the encounter, he would allow it. Grell had his control ripped from him by that quack of a doctor, and this was but a small step in getting it back...helping him to feel safe again. That was just fine by the Undertaker; it was the best he could do for him, right now.  
  
"Nnhh..." Grell moaned his hips jerking as the mortician's thumb brushed over the head of his erection, causing him to thrust hard into the Undertaker's hand. His nails dug into the sheets with each stroke of the mortician's hand.  
  
Needing air, the redhead broke the kiss, throwing his head back as he pushed himself up. He panted heavily as he looked back down at his lover. "Y-you're... you're going t-to make me... ahh... come-come to s-soon." He stammered.  
  
His nails clawing down the mortician's chest, tiny beads of blood appearing in their wake. Bowing down over his lover, he lapped at the trails of blood like a cat drinking milk. "Y-you taste... delicious." He purred.  
  
Undertaker accepted the punishment with a little hiss, finding beauty in the pain. He stopped fondling Grell's balls to stroke his hair encouragingly, allowing him to lap up his blood as much as he liked, before the scratches closed up.  
  
He bucked beneath him impulsively, fighting the desire to roll him over and pin him beneath him. His exposed cock was flushed at the head and glistening with arousal, smearing against Grell's bare stomach as the crimson reaper sampled his life's blood.  
  
"Can't say anyone's ever...said that to me before, love...at least, not about my blood."  
  
Grell smiled wickedly at the statement, his lips stained red. Stretching out over the mortician's body, he pressed their chests together. Excess blood smearing on his own chest, Grell whispered into the Undertaker's ear. "Red looks good on you as well." He nipped the delicate flesh of the mortician's ear. "Reach your hands under my pillow. You will find... something useful." And with that he lowered his mouth to the Undertaker's neck.  
  
Undertaker did as advised, his fingers coming into contact with something smooth and cylindrical. He pulled it out to find it was a bottle of clear oil, and when he opened it, he detected the faint scent of roses. Smiling with understanding, he uncorked the bottle and he dribbled some of the substance onto his fingers.  
  
"I take it you want me to do the honors, darlin'?"  
  
Nodding, Grell whispered, his breath feathering over the mortician's pale skin. "Yes... Take me. Do as you wish." He swallowed, then kissed the crook of his lover's shoulder. "Use my body any way you like. I give myself to you."  
  
"I rather like you right where you are," said the mortician huskily. "I'd like you to ride me, lovely."  
  
He reached beneath and between Grell's straddling thighs to seek out the entrance to his body, and he smeared some of the oil on his fingers over it before breaching him gently. He gripped the base of his shaft with the other firmly, remembering the redhead's warning the he didn't want to come too soon.  
  
With a seductive little smile on his lips, he began to stroke him inside, and he murmured hotly into his ear.  
  
"Let's see what you can really do with these hips, my dear. You set the pace, and when you're ready to burst, I'll have my way with you."  
  
Grell's back arched as he felt the Undertaker's finger, glide into his body. His eyes closed as he nodded in recognition to the man's request. Eventually he lowered his mouth to the mortician's, kissing him passionately as his hips moved with his lover's digits. His left hand's fingers twisted and wrapped around the silver braid in the Undertaker's hair. His other held him up, supporting his weight. Soft moans fell from his lips, passing over his lover's.  
  
"Nnnh... Khronos..." He panted, breaking the kiss. He reached down and covered the mortician's hand. With his fingers covering his lover's, he slowly stroked himself, guiding the mortician's hand up and down his shaft. He bit his lower lip as he looked down at the Undertaker below him. His hips still rocking back and forth as he felt another finger slip into his body.  
  
"Enjoying that, rose?" Undertaker's voice came out in a breathless, husky drone.  
  
He undulated beneath him restlessly, rubbing his aching cock against his inner thigh to leave a glistening trail of precum there. The teasing friction wasn't enough, and he suppressed a groan of frustration. He allowed Grell to guide his hand over his taut flesh, and he began to pump his fingers inside of him, curling them searchingly.  
  
Grell pried the mortician's hand from around his thrumming cock and leaned down. His lips hovered just over his lover's. He whispered, tauntingly. "I want to taste more of you... ahh... I want to drink from you and then... nnh... when you can stand it no longer." He nipped the mortician' bottom lip. "As I said before. Take me however you like. Sweetly and soft or fast and rough. Either way..."  
  
His tongue flicked out and licked the dribble of blood that seeped from the Undertaker's sliced lip. A wicked flame danced in his eye as Grell's voice became darker. "Fuck me."  
  
Carefully, Grell removed the mortician's other hand from his body. Saying nothing more, the redhead, began to slither down the mortician's body. His eyes locked onto his lover's. His nails slicing down the Undertaker's body once more as fresh beads of blood painted his chest and stomach. But Grell did not tarry to drink the beautiful blood, allowing his lover to heal. His mind was fixated and desiring the taste of something else. His body slid over the mortician's legs and his hands grabbed the waist of his lover's pants, pulling them down the rest of the way and disposed of them onto the floor. Grell snaked his hands up his lover's legs, spreading them, he nestled between them. His tongue danced around the Undertaker's heated flesh. Base to tip, it slinked its way up. "Mmm..." He softly purred.  
  
Undertaker tensed involuntarily, sucking in a sharp breath and tasting his own blood on his lips in the process. He was well aware if the danger he was flirting with, letting the shark-toothed reaper put his mouth on his goods--especially considering the blood lust Grell had displayed. Still, he didn't try to stop him. Somehow he trusted him not to damage the cock he wanted inside of him so badly. He stroked Grell's hair and he tried to relax.  
  
"Easy on the package, love," he warned...just in case.  
  
Grell's tongue circled the bulbous head of the Undertaker's erection, before pressing his lips to the burning flesh. Slowly his mouth covered the mortician and inch by inch, Grell took him deeper. Gradually he came back up, gently scrapping his teeth along Kronos' twitching shaft. With only the tip remaining in his mouth, Grell gave a little suck, then quickly he bobbed his head back down, sheathing the mortician once more in his mouth. Deeper, the Undertaker's cock tickled the back of his throat as he repeated the procedure.  
  
Undertaker couldn't suppress a tremor and a groan of pleasure. It had been some time since anyone did this to him, and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and looked down the length of his body to watch. He stroked Grell's fiery hair with trembling hands, eventually curling his fingers into it. It took a mighty effort to resist pulling as he watched his swollen , moist flesh slide into Grell's sucking mouth.  
  
His gaze lost focus as the feel of the redhead's tongue swirling around the tip jolted his senses. "M-mother of death," he gasped, his hips lifting from the mattress. "Grell...love...feels amazing..."  
  
He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillows, silver locks wisping over his face with the motion. His breath quickened as his lover eagerly slurped and sucked, and he knew he wouldn't last for much longer.  
  
"You...you're going to get a bigger taste of me...than you bargained for," he predicted as the pelvic tension grew and grew.  
  
Grell's smile widened. "And what did I tell you to do... when you could no longer contain yourself?" He ran his tongue up along the slick flesh. Grell's own erection began to twitch at the thought of the mortician claiming his body.  
  
Driven to the edge, Undertaker couldn't bear it any longer. With a growl of carnal passion, he grabbed his lover by the shoulders and pulled him up roughly, dragging him along his torso until he was splayed on top of him. He cupped his head and drew his mouth down for a ravishing kiss; cutting both their mouths on Grell's teeth in the process. He guided the smaller man into a straddling position on top of him, and then he lined his stiffened shaft up to nudge into him.  
  
His response to the moan that burst from his companion's bloodied lips was another growl, and he cupped his hips to hold him firmly in place as he drove the long, thick length of his cock into his tight heat, deeper and deeper.  
  
"Nnnh..." The redhead moaned, his head falling back, exposing his throat. Blood ran form his lips over his chin and down his ivory neck. His eyes fell closed, grabbing his lover's wrist. His other hand lay sprawled out on the mortician's chest bracing himself.  
  
Gradually he lifted his head and opened his eyes. His gaze meeting his lover's. "Khronos... ahh... Touch me." He groaned, dragging the Undertaker's hand from his hip to his throbbing cock. "I... I want... to come with... with you."  
  
Grell leaned down for a moment, pressing their mouths together, before his hips began to rock back and forth harder, urging his lover to stroke him. His skin glistened under the veil of darkness as sweat covered his body. His moans grew as he edged closer to his undoing. It would not be much longer till he would spill forth, orgasm in his lover's gentle hand.  
  
The older reaper stroked him slowly, thrusting beneath him and gasping with each pump of his hips. He squeezed Grell's ass with his free hand and he groaned his name, loving every moment of feeling his snug passage massaging his length.  
  
"Ahh...ah, darlin'...you fit like a glove..."  
  
He clenched his teeth and hissed through them, fighting his impending climax to make the encounter last longer. He squeezed Grell's erection more firmly as he tilted his head back against the pillows, and he rubbed the smooth, soft curve of his bottom.  
  
"K-Khronos... I..." Grell swallowed hard as his body began to vibrate. "Nnnh... I'm... c-coming. Ahh... KHRONOS!" He cried out, releasing himself over his lover's hand and stomach. His body clutched all around the mortician's cock, squeezing it, deep inside him. His own length continuing to ejaculate from the Undertaker's continuous stroking.  
  
"Nu...ohh!" He couldn't withstand the assault of pleasure as Grell's ass clamped down on his thrusting sex, and Undertaker arched his back. He lifted his hips off the bedding--as well as the impassioned reaper straddling him--and he spurted hot and hard inside of him. He shook from the intensity of it, his body vibrating with his lover's.  
  
"Grell," he panted as he spent himself within him. When he had nothing left to give, he still continued to twitch inside him for several heartbeats. It finally eased up, and he released Grell's cock to run his hands over the fair, sweat dampened body atop his. Grell looked eerily beautiful to him, with the drying blood staining his lips and throat, and the afterglow of sexual gratification on his face.  
  
"Mercy, love...I think I...lost IQ points, just now," announced the Undertaker breathlessly. "I could swear I ejaculated my brains out."  
  
Giving a little giggle, Grell collapsed atop Khronos. "So you have finally come down to my level then," retorted the redhead.  
  
Raising his chin, Grell, kissed the mortician's cheek. He reached up and peeled the silver locks that clung to Khronos' face. Lightly and nimbly his fingers worked, until every last strand was no longer sticking to the Undertaker's alabaster skin.  
  
"Your skin is like... porcelain love. It looks so fragile... but beautiful." Grell softly spoke, trying to catch his breath. "Khrronos?" Smoothly he pushed himself up to look in his lover's eyes. "I know we-we have only just connected... but years, we have known each other for years." A tinge of pink, dusted his cheeks.  
  
"Ah, Hell! I think I am falling in love with you!" The words rushing from the redhead's mouth.  
  
Quickly his eyes darted away, to afraid he would see rejection staring back at him. He laid his head on the mortician's chest and focused on the sound of his calming heartbeat. His fingers, tracing a scar on the mortician's collar.  
  
The admission surprised Undertaker, but he found it more pleasing than shocking. Still winded from the intensity of their encounter, he stroked Grell's back and he took a few moments of silence to consider his own feelings. He admitted to himself that a part of him was outright afraid to love another...to put his heart on the line again. However, there was no denying the connection he felt growing between them the past two days. He didn't feel this sort of protective devotion for just anybody, either.  
  
"I think I'm falling in love with you too, my dear," he finally whispered. Saying it out loud was easier than he'd anticipated.  
  
Grell looked back up at the mortician, surprised by his reply, to his confession. His eyes were wide, so many emotions swimming in their deep pools of emerald and peridot green. Timidly he spoke, "You are? I expected you to say it was to soon, that it was impossible for me to feel something... after only a couple of days of being together."  
  
He tenderly touched the Undertaker's cheek. "I think this feeling has been inside me for some time."  
  
The mortician grinned. "Even when I annoyed you, love?"  
  
Grell smiled, "Perhaps. I can't be sure about that. I believe I truly despised you those times. However I did always notice the way you handled the Phantomhive brat... that was when I attended my beautiful Red and of course you did not fight me to much, when I stuck you in that pot of salt." He teased, poking the mortician in the chest.  
  
"You have always fascinated me. You only became more handsome when I found out you were not mortal... but in fact a reaper like myself. I believe that was when I truly took notice of you. Though I never would have guessed you would harbor similar feelings the way you jested me." Grell smirked, his fingers crawling up the Undertaker's chest, then bopping him on the nose.  
  
"Hasn't anyone ever told you that lads tease the girls they like to show affection?" Reasoned Undertaker with a chuckle. "The same rule applies here, darlin'. That was my way of flirting without making it obvious."  
  
"You lie?!" Grell exclaimed, pinching one of the mortician's erect nipples. Not rough, but enough to make him jump.  
  
"Ack! No, it's the honest to death's truth, you little nightmare!" Undertaker gave him a brief swat on the ass, grinning from ear to ear. He rubbed the tip of his nose affectionately against Grell's. "I've a boyish streak at times, and I thought you might laugh at me if I started making romantic gestures. How else was I to get attention from you, without revealing my attraction outright?"  
  
He sighed, sobering a bit. "Problem is, I'm an old fool who didn't think you'd return my affections. It didn't cross my mind to try wooing you 'till my bucket of paint dropped on you and I saw a more vulnerable side. You might say I took advantage of a damsel in distress."  
  
Grell jerked from the sting of the mortician's hand on his rump. He scowled at the Undertaker. "You really are a scoundrel and a creep." A rueful smile painted the redhead's lips, his face softening. "How deplorable of you. Taking advantage of me like that. I was as black as midnight and you.... you..." Shutting up, Grell stretched up. Softly he pressed their mouths together. "Thank gravity for dropping that can on me." He cooed as his eyes fluttered shut and he captured the mortician's mouth.  
  
The mortician chuckled into the kiss, stroking Grell's soft, tangled hair lovingly. He kissed him back with sated adoration and he wondered again how something that started as a curious little crush had blossomed into an almost frightening feeling of devotion and passion. Questioning it further would avail him little. He'd already tripped and he was now entangled in bonds he knew he wouldn't escape; he didn't even want to _try_ , now.  
  
"Think you can sleep now, my dear?" he murmured between kisses.  
  
The sun would begin to rise soon, but neither of them had gotten a proper night's rest and he wasn't one to allow his body to drift into fatigue, if he could help it. That was one of the few things their kind was vulnerable to, and he'd faced the unpleasant business of a coma resulting from sleep deprivation before. If he was to protect his lover, he needed his wits and so did Grell. He frowned at the realization that he still had a business to run, and he couldn't be here to guard the redhead from the doctor and his minions at all hours. Grell was more than capable of taking care of himself in most cases, but he'd seen with his own eyes the affect that Dr. Wundt had on him. The thought gave him an idea.  
  
"We can't have you weakening through lack of rest," he said gently, "nor I."  
  
He hesitated, wondering how Grell would react to what he was about to propose. Falling in love or not, they _had_ only just begun to explore their relationship further. Perhaps it was better to just spit it out. "I think I'd like you to come and stay with me for a while," he said cautiously, "at least during the day, when my shop is open. I'm not trying to smother you, love, but I don't think you should be alone while that thing is plotting to get his hooks into you. I've certain protections around my shop that stop Shinigami and other supernaturals from entering unless I want them to. You could pack a chest and keep it in the bedroom, so's you have whatever you need close at hand, and if you prefer, we can spend the nights here at your home."  
  
He gazed up at him and stroked his hair, hoping he wasn't overstepping himself. "What do you say? Care to shack up with ol' Khronos for a bit?"    
  
Grell's eyes grew wide and he blinked a few times before replying. "I-I... umm... well I suppose." He shrugged, swallowing hard. The proposal, unexpected and surprising.  
  
"I mean..." he blushed. "I wouldn't want to impose. Nor do I wish to rush things anymore than they already have been. Are you sure you won't grow tired of me so quickly... if I accept?" Grell inquired, unsure how else to respond.  
  
While he was very flattered by the offer, he was also afraid of scaring the reaper away. He had a terrible fondness for him and he had a tendency to ruin things. Would he be the wind of change for him? Bring him some luck? Grell pondered as he studied the mortician's face.  
  
Undertaker smiled fondly at him and shook his head. "Can't see that happening, love. I find you endlessly entertaining, even when you're being a brat."  
  
"Why you!" Grell huffed. He reached under the Undertaker's head and yanked the pillow out from under him. Covering Khronos' face with the feather stuffed case, pretending to smother him.  
  
Undertaker put up a convincing struggle, before gradually lying still. He painted on a dramatic, dead expression with his tongue lolling out and his eyes rolled back when Grell pulled the pillow away.  
  
"Well that did it," sighed Grell. "I guess I should get this corpse out of my bed. Wouldn't want it to rot and make my room smell displeasing." Grell started to roll off of his lover. He knew the mortician wasn't dead of course, but two could play at this game.  
  
Undertaker grabbed him abruptly and rolled onto him, pinning him beneath him. With a wide grin, he growled and nipped playfully at the redhead.  
  
Giggling, the redhead scolded the mortician. "Pretending? You were pretending to be dead? How very unkind of you to not be so." His eyes held mischief in them as he stared up at his lover. His foot began to caress the back of the Undertaker's leg.  
  
Undertaker's chuckles faded, and he stared down at the smaller reaper with suddenly softened eyes. He admired the way the crimson hair framed his head, and he lowered his mouth to his for a kiss.  
  
"Mmm..." the redhead moaned, his eyes closing, savoring those pale lips once more. His lips parted, enticing the mortician's tongue to join his in a passionate dance. His body wiggling slightly below the retired reaper's body. His leg continued to glide up and down the Undertaker's side. The red painted tips of his toes curling with each pass over the scarred flesh.  
  
Undertaker deepened the kiss, his passions quickly aroused by the moment. They were supposed to be going to sleep, of course. When he felt Grell's answering arousal against his thigh, he knew sleep would be a long way off.  
  
"Looks like I'll be opening up shop late," he murmured as his hands began to wander. It wasn't a complaint by any means. He hadn't had a reason to open late for quite some time. He proceeded to make love to Grell again...and yet again after that. Rough, tender, passionate...he gave it all to him in various degrees until the sun came up and they were both too exhausted for more.

 

* * *

  
-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight filled the room, bathing the two sleeping reapers in warmth. Reluctantly, Grell stirred. He blinked a few times, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. The weight of an arm across his belly had him turning his head. He smiled as he gazed over at the mortician snuggled up against him. He brushed a strand of silver hair from his lover's face, but he didn't wake him right away. Instead he lay there admiring the reaper next to him. Who would have ever thought, he and the morbid mortician would end up in each other's arms. It was nice. The Undertaker didn't treat him like a freak... well not any longer. He confessed that he had always had a fancy for Grell and that made the redhead feel special for the first time in his reaper life. It was also welcoming that Khronos respected him enough to address him properly.  
  
The other reapers refused to accept that he was a lady, deep down inside. For the most part, their calling him in masculine pronouns didn't bother him, but it made him feel more like himself knowing the reaper next to him accepted him the way he was. True, in the past, Khronos had hurt his feelings with his teasing, but the mortician made up for it plenty last night. Grell bit his lower lip, just thinking about the passions the reaper had displayed over the night. Rough, passionate, slow... they had made love various ways. Several times in fact, till they passed out from exhaustion. Grell moved slightly and was reminded just how rough a few times had been. He was a tad sore, but it was worth the discomfort. He was the Undertaker's and the Undertaker was his. Someone wanted him, wanted to love and protect him.  
  
After a moment of reflection, Grell rolled to face his lover. He delicately touched the sleeping reaper's cheek. "Khronos." He whispered, kissing the mortician's lips tenderly.

Undertaker stirred, roused a bit by the kiss. He instinctively drew Grell closer and nuzzled his hair. "Mmrning," he mumbled, rubbing the smaller reaper's back in a slow caress. He raised his head curiously and peered at the clock on the nightstand, trying to make out the numbers with his poor vision. His bangs fell over his eyes, further hindering his ability to read them. "Or is it afternoon?"

Giggling, Grell tried to turn over to look at the clock, but Undertaker's arms held him too tightly for him to wiggle free. "If you would let me go for just a moment, I could tell you."

Undertaker cuddled even closer and yawned. "I'd rather have you than the time, right now. We can go to the shop later." He kissed Grell's forehead and sighed, enjoying the way he fit against him.

"You better not be getting any ideas." The redhead scowled teasingly, poking the Undertaker in the chest. "I do not think my backside can handle anymore at the moment. I am rather sore from your previous affections."  
  
Grell smiled as a tiny giggle fell from his lips. "Not that I am complaining, love. But I don't mind the cuddles and lounging in bed for a time. That is, if you are in no hurry to tend your shop."

"I think if I were to cry right now, only dust would come out," said Undertaker with a smirk. "You drained me dry last night, my dear."  
  
He kissed him on the mouth and he gave him another little squeeze. "Cuddling is all I'm capable of, right now. We can stop at this nice pub I know 'round the corner from my shop and have something to eat before we get there. I'm just as happy to lie here for a bit longer, though."

"You do know if we are not careful, the day will pass us by and then there will be no reason to visit the shop." Grell pointed out, strumming his fingers up and down his lover's arm.  
  
"Can I ask you something? I could really use a male's perspective. Do you prefer me in masculine clothing, or is women's clothing more appealing?" Grell asked sincerely. He was curious as to what the Undertaker made of his apparel last night. Not many reapers had ever seen him in ladies' fashions, since he tended to wear a suit for work as was the dress code for all reapers, male or female.

"I like you either way," answered the mortician with a shrug. "The view is always nice, whether you're wearing trousers or petticoats."

"I may not be normal... but I would like to be respected as if I was," The redhead whispered, running his fingers along a scar on Undertaker's chest.  
  
"The mortals have no idea what I am," confided Grell. "They believe me to be a female. I never enter my house in my work clothes. I portal in, unless I have my cloak with me. They would be aghast to find me in men's clothing. They know me only as a woman."  
  
He had never shared his ritual with any other being before. It was nice to share such a private matter. The Undertaker was a soothing salve to his lonely and wounded life. Khronos may have worn his battle wounds on the outside, but Grell wore them all on the inside. Because of that, nobody ever asked him about them.

The older reaper smiled at him. "You wear whatever you like, my dear. I'll think of you as my lady-love, either way. Pack dresses or suits—whichever you fancy. When you're in my home, it's your home." He kissed him tenderly, hoping this damaged creature trusted him enough to know that he was sincere. He was all too familiar with wearing masks, himself. A legend to the Shinigami and an old eccentric to the mortals, the Undertaker could identify with Grell's dilemma, even though his circumstances weren't the same.

Grell smiled back. He slipped his hand behind the mortician's neck, pulling him forward, so their lips could meet. The kiss was gentle, not heated. It held so much of the redhead's heart. The fact was that this reaper could be the man of his dreams. The thought ignited a new flame inside of him: hope.  
  
Hope—that which he had nearly given up on after his stint in the psychiatric ward. There your dreams were dashed, stolen from you. All you were given was fear and darkness. Grell liked the way Undertaker made him feel. He was like a drug, a new freedom. He was love.

 

* * *

 

After cleaning up and packing a few things for Grell, the couple left the apartment and hailed a carriage. Rather than stop at the pub as originally planned, Undertaker had the coachman take them directly to his shop so that they could get his lover's belongings situated first. After that, they took a stroll to the pub together and had lunch. Grell chose to wear a dress and Undertaker had no problem with that. He did his best to be a gentleman to him, out of practice as he was. He offered his arm as they walked, he opened doors for him and he pulled out the chair for him at the pub. In fact, he was a little embarrassed to be with him—not because of the gender ambiguity, but because Grell looked so fancy and lovely in his outfit for the day, with his hair pinned back elegantly. Undertaker was in his usual drab funeral director attire, as he only owned one decent suit and dozens of robes, tight pants and boots.

"My goodness," remarked the mortician as they sat down to order from the menu, "are you certain you want to be seen out with me, love? Don't get me wrong, I adore having a pretty thing like you on my arm, but people might wonder why such a fine lady is in the company of the mad old funeral director."

He'd removed his hat out of courtesy and put it on the rack by the door, but he felt woefully unkempt and dusty, compared to Grell. It was a casual pub and all, but he felt like he should have at least tied his hair back with a ribbon.

Grell reached across the table, his lace-clad hand taking the mortician's. "You are just fine, and any lady would be lucky to have you on her arm. Besides, if anyone says anything...." he shrugged, "I will just break out my scythe and give them a piece of my mind." Smiling, the redhead resumed scanning his menu.  
  
He still held the Undertaker's hand when he asked, "Any recommendations?"

"Hmm." Undertaker looked over the menu, thinking about how everything he'd tried before tasted and attempting to match something to Grell's taste. "You may like the Welsh rarebit. It's toasted rye with butter, Dijon, cheddar and cream. I usually get the Shepard's pie, myself."

A serving girl came by and she smiled at Undertaker. "Afternoon, sir. Haven't seen you here for a spell!"

Undertaker smiled back. "Hullo, Mildred. I'll have a pint and my lady companion will have...warm cider?"

He looked at Grell questioningly, guessing he wasn't interested in anything alcoholic but unsure of what he might prefer to drink otherwise.

Nodding, Grell smiled. "Yes, that would be just fine."  
  
They watched as the girl left to fetch their drinks, before Grell looked over at his lover and quirked a brow. "I take it you come here regularly?"

"When my schedule permits...or when I just want to be around the living, for a change." Undertaker winked at him.

Grell giggled. "I think I shall have the Shepard's pie as well. Sounds a bit lighter than the other. After last night... you would think I would be rather hungry, but sadly I am not. I think you spoiled my appetite with to much dessert." He winked back.

The older reaper brushed his foot playfully against Grell's under the table. The barmaid returned with their drinks a moment later, wearing a sunny smile on her freckled face. "Are you ready to order?"  
  
"Indeed we are, dear." Undertaker took Grell's menu, stacked it with his and handed them both to the serving girl. "We'll both have the Shepard's pie, thanks."  
  
She nodded and scribbled it down on her note pad. "Good choice. Want some biscuits while you wait?"  
  
"Please," agreed the mortician with a nod. To Grell, he said: "They have the softest bread rolls here, always fresh. Quaint little place, but they treat folk like family."

"They sound delicious. I cannot wait to try them." Grell smiled back and he played with the mortician's hand as it rested on top of the table.  
  
"So tell me love, what else keeps you entertained when you are not working on the dead?" Inquired the redhead as he ran is fingertips delicately over Undertaker's long black nails.

"I like limericks, Charley Chapman and reading over medical books," said the ancient. He took a sip from his drink before continuing. "I also enjoy partaking in astronomy now and then, though I've got to use my telescope on the roof to see the stars clearly."

Grell peeked up from his glass, slowly lowering it. "Star gazing? I would have never pictured you as such. I love the night sky."  
  
Melancholy painted the redhead's face. He averted his gaze to the tabletop and whispered. "At least I use to, before..."

Undertaker squeezed his hand. "You don't have to look at them if you don't want to, but if you decide you want a peek, I'll be right there with you."

"Oh! I don't mind looking at them. I just don't enjoy them like I once did." Grell looked up blinking, almost startled by the kind offer. "I would not mind accompanying you to the roof if you would like to gaze at them." He blushed.

Charmed, Undertaker smiled at him. "Then let's do that tonight, after I get business sorted at my shop. I might not even open today, but I still have a clientele to maintain and I'll need to make some calls."

Grell took a sip of his drink, "Please don't on my account. I have kept you from your business long enough today. I don't mind grabbing a book and crawling onto your bed to read." He thought for a moment. "Actually, that sounds quite enjoyable. I can't remember when last I spent the day lost in a good book."

"I have quite a selection in my study," offered the mortician. "You might find something that's your cup o' tea in there, so feel free to browse through it when we get to the shop."

Smiling, Grell was about to reply when the serving girl re-emerged with a basket of biscuits in her hand. She smiled sweetly at the couple as she placed the basket on the table between them and a little dish of butter. She informed the two reapers that their meals would be up shortly. With a slight dip, she scurried off.  
  
With wide eyes and a growling stomach, the redhead plucked a biscuit from under the napkin. With a flick of his wrist, he buttered the top of it and bit into hit. His eyes lit up, the butter melting on his tongue. He softly moaned with enjoyment.

Undertaker smirked around the bite he'd taken himself, and he swallowed. "You see? Best biscuits in London."

He almost teased Grell about the sensual noise he'd made when he bit into his, but knowing the redhead, he'd only provoke him into making more obvious sounds of delight that could draw more attention than they wanted. He enjoyed his roll quietly, his bright, concealed gaze taking in every expression of pleasure on Grell's face. The food came and the serving girl refilled their drinks before leaving again. Undertaker dug in with a healthy appetite, chatting about mundane things as he ate. Inwardly he was calculating how he would go about getting information on Grell's doctor that would lead to putting a stop to his practice, one way or the other. He kept a cheerful front for his lover's sake, hoping to keep him distracted from thinking about the things he'd endured at the man's hands.

 

* * *

 

Having finished their delightful lunch. Grell took the Undertaker's proffered arm as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. It was a short walk, but for the first time in a long while, Grell just enjoyed the ambiance of the London atmosphere. It felt nice to be himself, dressed in a lovely walking dress, being escorted by a charming fellow. He would never have gotten such treatment from William. He hated seeing Grell in feminine clothing. He liked the men he took to bed to be men. And Sebastian—as handsome and proper as he was—he would never treat Grell as a lady, only as a nuisance. There were other reapers he had kept his eye on, but none could compare to the man by his side. With a bright, warm smile he glanced up at Khronos.  
  
"Thank you for lunch. It was a splendid treat." The redhead squeezed the mortician's arm.

Undertaker returned his smile. "My pleasure, darlin'. I don't like to get out much, but I make exceptions for that pub. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Out of sheer instinct, he lifted Grell's hand in his and kissed the top of it. The resulting blush of pleasure from the smaller reaper was instantly gratifying, and he was again glad to have made the decision to court him. His happy mood evaporated as they rounded the block and he spotted a Dispatch agent standing outside his shop. He stopped Grell and urged him back around the corner with him, instantly on alert. He couldn't tell who it was from this distance with his poor eyesight, but he knew the uniform and the reaper aura well enough. All he'd seen of the agent was a glimpse of blond hair.

"One moment, love," whispered the Undertaker when Grell opened his mouth to question him. "Have a peek around the corner and see if you recognize the chap standing outside my door. Seems to be a young fellow, from what I could tell."

Grell did as he was requested. A smile painting his lips as his eyes fell on the young reaper. Picking up his skirts, he took off in a mad dash.  
  
"Ronnie!" He hollered as he threw his arms around the stunned reaper, nearly plowing right over the top of him.

Undertaker watched with bemusement and a touch of discomfort as his lover hugged the young man in front of the shop. It had been a long time indeed since he'd felt the petty stirrings of jealousy. He hardly recognized it for what it was at first, and when he did, he felt acutely embarrassed. Grell wasn't trying to kiss his blond friend; his embrace was brotherly, if anything. The one called 'Ronnie' yelped in surprise before recognizing his affectionate assailant.

"Sutcliff Senpai! Wow, I forgot about your...er...other clothes." Ronald hugged him back and glanced at the shop door. "I was sent here to try and talk to the Undertaker, but now you're here and that's even better."

Ron tugged Grell closer to the shop door, glancing around covertly before whispering: "What the hell's going on with you and the Undertaker? Spears Senpai said he vouched for you? I mean, not that I think you did this one, but...uh...what's up with that?"

Hooking his arm with the youth's, Grell smiled. "I had an accident and he merely helped me. We were having dinner when that awful doctor showed up with Will."  
  
Grell began to lead the blond down the street as they talked, heading in the direction of the Undertaker. "Ronnie, I have been horrible. He is much kinder and quite the gentleman. I should have played nice long ago rather than wasting my cookies on William. But back to your question." The redhead waved his free hand, dismissing the direction the conversation had turned.  
  
"I had invited the Undertaker to my house for dinner last night, after having spent the night here, in his shop. See, my clothes had to dry over night." The redhead giggled, then resumed, his face growing somber. "From what I gathered the poor chit was murdered while we slept, because yesterday morning she was delivered to the Undertaker."  
  
Grell stopped and faced the blond. "Ronnie, I saw her body. I was frightened, and I knew they would come for me." Fear was in his eyes, the afternoon sun causing them to flicker.

Ronald scowled. "I knew they were coming for ya, and Spears Senpai told me to stay out of it when I said I'd go to your flat to talk to you about it first. I don't like that doctor one...hey, what's he doing?"

Ronald pointed at the corner of a building, where the Undertaker's head swiftly vanished. The ancient managed to drop his hat in the process of yanking his face back behind the corner, and a long-nailed hand swiftly appeared to snatch it back.

"Hmm?" Grell hummed as he glanced at the corner, where Ronald had pointed, just in time to see the hat disappear. "Being creepy as usual, dear. Now you say you tried to intervene? How did you come upon such a conversation... to try and take such action?" Inquired Grell, waving off the crazy Undertaker.

Ronald stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Well yeah. The last few times they dragged you in, they didn't find any proof you had anything to do with it." A breeze blew his bangs over his eyes, and he brushed them aside absently. "I told the boss it didn't make any sense to keep dragging you in when they had no proof, but he insisted on protocol. I think he's uncomfortable with it all too, if you ask me. That's why he sent me to check on the Undertaker and see if you were here. I guess maybe he thought you'd talk to me more freely."

 

* * *

 

Undertaker listened to it all from a distance, not as familiar with the young reaper as his lover was. His natural inclination was to question his presence and motives, but the way Grell had plowed out to meet him had him reconsidering the defensive plans forming in his mind. He relinquished the idea of drawing his scythe, but he wasn't sure how to approach now. Grell obviously trusted this young man, and so far Knox hadn't given any indication of threatening him.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, the mortician absently turned his hat around in his hands by the brim. The pair was steadily walking toward him.

"My, this is awkward," muttered the Undertaker.

He began to grin—his usual response to uncomfortable situations. When they drew near, he manifested before them and loomed over Knox, smiling wildly at him. "Hullo, agent."

Despite having known he was in the general area, Ronald yelped and jumped back a step. "Holy tap-dancing shit! Could ya _not_ do that?"

"Hmm, tap-dancing shit," pondered the Undertaker, tapping his long black nails against his grinning teeth. He shrugged. "Can't say as I've ever seen shit do that before. Shall we?"

He gestured toward his shop, producing his key from his garments.

"Would you knock that off?" Scolded Grell. "You are scaring him and I don't need him high tailing it out of here just yet."

Grell turned his attention back to the blond. "Now dear, what else do you know? Did you overhear anything else about that bloody old creep of a doctor? Perhaps anything about the mysterious death of that young girl?"

Ronald walked inside the shop with Grell and the Undertaker, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, the old creep of a doctor keeps pushing to bring you back in for observation and treatment. We all read over the Undertaker's autopsy report and both Alan and I keep telling everyone it doesn't fit you. We were all there for the Ripper phase you went through, and we all saw what you did to those girls. Blood lust or not, you were methodical. This was a hack job."

Undertaker nodded. "Mm-hmm. My thoughts exactly. Good eye, Mr. Knox."

Ronald shrugged, casting the older reaper a faintly wary look before returning his gaze to Grell. "Something stinks about this whole thing, Senpai. I don't like that Dr. Wundt, and I told Senpai Spears so. He's got his own angle, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is. Did you piss him off or something?"

Grell let go of the blond's arm, his gaze fixed on the floor as he turned from his friend, shaking his head. Slowly, his eyes wandered over to the Undertaker, his gaze pleading the older reaper for strength as sadness etched across his expression.  
  
"No." Grell quietly replied. Wringing his hands, he straightened his back. Keeping his eyes locked with the mortician's, his voice grew more confident. "No, I did not piss him off. I believe Doctor Wundt has taken a liking to me and refuses to accept that I want nothing to do with him."

Undertaker frowned and nodded in agreement, and Ronald looked between the two of them curiously. He searched Grell's face and his eyes narrowed. "So he's stalking you? That sonofabitch...I'm going to go—"

"You'll do nothing," Undertaker said, reaching out to grab Ronald's arm before he could take a step toward the door. "In fact, I'd recommend you don't say anything about what your mentor just told you; not yet. If you want to help, you can act as our eyes and ears in Dispatch and tell us if you hear anything about or from that blustering shit pile that might lead to a case against him."

Undertaker looked at Grell, his expression softening. "That is, if my lady finds that idea logically sound. I don't know you as well as Grell does, so the decision is his."

Grell looked over his shoulder, his body slowly following. "I suppose that would be a good idea. And stalking is a kinder way of stating it, but yes you could also say that." He reached out and touched the blond's cheek. "Don't be rash or stupid... Mustard Seed. I am fine and Undertaker here...." He nodded in the direction of the retired reaper. "He knows and is watching over me. I will be okay. I have endured all these years on my own and now I have help. And you are going to help me as well... aren't you... love?"

Ronald shot the Undertaker an embarrassed look over the affectionate nickname, and then he nodded. "Well, yeah. Of...of _course_ I'm gonna help! Especially if he...if he...dammit..."

The young Dispatch agent looked away and compressed his lips for a moment. "I'll help," he finally said, after composing himself. He looked at Grell again. "I'll just tell them I found you hanging out with the Undertaker. It's the truth, after all. Ya gave me the same alibi they got from you, and I'll say so. I just...wish you'd say something to Spears Senpai, but I kind of understand why ya don't want to."

"Thank you, Ronnie." The redhead smiled. "But just so you know, I did try talking to that arse once. He just didn't want to listen. I can't say I blame him, after the stunt I pulled back then." Grell looked down at his feet, twisting his body. "I messed up and... and...."  
  
Grell wanted to say more. He wanted to tell the young blond more, but his chest began to ache. The memories of Will dismissing and telling him he was over exaggerating about the doctor's behaviour came back in a rush of raw pain.  
  
 _"Grell, that is preposterous. Just because you had to be put away and under go treatment for your crimes does not mean you can complain and make up stories about high ranking reapers, whom are well thought of and revered for their work. Doctor Wundt has been nothing but generous in taking your case and seeing to your well being. He has kept me informed on your progress over the months."_  
  
Will had stood yelling and scolding the redhead, until he had grown weary and exhausted. Grell had tried to speak once more only to be silenced by Will's quick dismissal, a wave of his hand and the harsh sentence, telling him to leave his office. Grell could still feel the chill December air on his face as he had rushed from the Dispatch building in tears. Sheets of piercing cold rain fell, drenching him. He had ran as fast as he could through the streets of London, to his home in Berkley Square.  
  
He had thought he could turn to the Dispatch Manager for help, that Will was a friend. The betrayal from his disloyalty to the Dispatch was evident that day. His shenanigans had pushed the one person he loved far out of his grasp and ruined not only their work relationship, but their friendship as well.  
  
The redhead jumped as a hand touched him on the arm, jerking him from his reverie.

The light touch had come from his lover. "Why don't we have some tea?" suggested the Undertaker in a gentle voice, reserved for those he truly cared about.

Ronald stared in surprise at the kind, dulcet tone. Gone was the scratchy, creepy voice he was used to hearing from the mortician. Hearing the tone he used with his mentor and seeing the protective expression on what could be seen of his pale features beneath the shag of long, silver bangs, he had his confirmation that Grell wasn't exaggerating their new found relationship.

"Thanks, but I've got to get back to Dispatch and check in," sighed the blond. "Otherwise they might send someone looking for me, wondering if I got in trouble or started slacking on the job. Senpai, we'll fix this somehow. We'll expose this quack for what he is and Spears Senpai will _have_ to open his eyes. I've got a party to go to after work, and I'll see if I can dig anything up there. People talk when they're buzzing."

"Liquor tends to loosen tongues, yes," agreed Undertaker with a grin. "Just watch who you ask and how you do it, 'Mustard Seed'. You won't do your mentor any good if they put you away for slipping your leash and conspiring against the authorities."

Ronald sighed. "Great. I'm so _happy_   that nickname is catching on." He looked at Grell again and he did the "death" salute. "You can count on me. Just hang in there, Senpai!"

Grell slipped his arms around the blond's neck. Embracing him close, the redhead whispered into his ear. "Thank you, Ronnie. Please be careful. And have a good time tonight. I love you." Grell kissed him on the cheek, before squeezing him tighter.

Ronald looked at the Undertaker, who was now frowning a bit. "Uh, sure! Back at ya." He patted his mentor's back and stepped away, uncertain of how the ancient would react to such a declaration of affection. "I'd better get going. See ya!"

Undertaker watched the young reaper hurry out of his shop, and it occurred to him that the nasty feeling he was now suffering was full-blown jealousy, after all. He'd never been the jealous type before. He suddenly started to laugh at himself, amused. "My, my...you do bring out the worst in me at times, my dear," he said to Grell between chuckles.

Turning his head, Grell frowned at the wacky mortician. With hands on hips, the redhead asked; "And just what do you mean by that... you... you old _Coot_?"  
  
The sound of Grell's leather boot echoed throughout the dismal shop as he tapped his foot on the hardwood floor, bemused he awaited the mortician's answer.

His prissy stance only made the Undertaker laugh harder. "Oh, my sides...you are frankly adorable when you get uppity, darlin'."

He composed himself with difficulty, grinning widely at the impatient redhead as he considered how to explain. "A moment ago when you hugged your 'Mustard Seed' and declared your love for him...well, ol' Khronos fell victim to a fit of jealousy."

Undertaker sighed, and he took his hat off to play absently with the brim, bowing his shaggy head. "It's been a while. I hardly recognized the emotion for what it was. Forgot I could even _feel_ it."

Grell's hard lines changed from bemused to amused as the realization dawned on what the mortician was saying. Now, it was his turn to have a good laugh. Wrapping his arms around his mid-section, Grell was over come with a fit of giggles and a few snorts here and there.  
  
"Are you saying you are jealous of Ronnie? Oh, my, I think I need to sit on that one." Carefully, he sat down on one the beautiful coffins, laid out on display and looked up at his lover. "For Heaven's sake, you fool. Ronnie is my adopted brother. I took him in when he was first assigned to the Dispatch. He isn't like you and I. Becoming a reaper has been hard on him."  
  
Grell patted the coffin. "Come here and sit next to me," the redhead commanded.

The ancient obediently took a seat beside him, feeling so much the fool but amused with himself for his foolishness, all the same. "I know, I'm being a daft old codger," he sighed before Grell could even begin to chastise him further. "And I already guessed there was no romantic connection, seeing as he keeps referring to you as his mentor. It was just...seeing you in another man's embrace...I suppose there was no room for logic to work, there."

He dropped his hat on the coffin and shook his bangs out of his eyes to give his lover a sheepish, sidelong glance. "Forgive me, love?"

"What is there to forgive? I think it is adorable. I've never had someone... No. I take that back... I have." Grell changed his mind.  
  
He was going to state that no one had ever appeared jealous over him before, but the look on Wundt's face came back to him. The Doctor had the look of jealousy on his face, when he realized Grell was not home alone the night before. A tiny shiver wiggled its way up the crimson reaper's spine.

Guessing where his sentence must have been heading, Undertaker put an arm around him and drew him closer. "You've never had anyone who genuinely cares for you get jealous, I take it. You needn't worry, though. I've got no plans to eviscerate your little friend. Can't say the good 'doctor' doesn't hold such plans for me though...but then, I'd like to see him try."

He slid a long-nailed hand gently under Grell's chin and guided his head back, so that he could look him directly in the eyes. "I won't let him hurt you."

With furrowed brows, Grell softly spoke. A hint of regret tinted his words. "I am afraid you are too late in preventing that. But I believe you could keep him from doing it again or die trying…though I am not to fond of the latter part of the sentence."

Undertaker grinned, a not-so-sane smile that reminded one he wasn't quite right in the head. "I'm not afraid of death, my dear. I _am_ death...or I was, at any rate. The only thing that scares me now is the thought of that blighter getting his hands on you again."

"I don't want his hands on me again either... So now what do we do?" The redhead changed the subject, jumping to his feet. With a swoosh of his skirts, he turned around to look down at Khronos. "It is far to early for star-gazing." He giggled.

Undertaker could think of a dozen other things he would like to do with Grell. He stood up as well and he put his arms around him, hardly fazed by the abrupt change of subject. "I should probably open the shop and take care of the day's business, now," he murmured, "but I think I'd rather put it off until tomorrow."

He stroked a hand down Grell's back. "Do you think you've got everything you need for your stay? I'll help you get sorted out in the bedroom, if you like."

Grell stood with his arms crossed over his chest. One brow raised as he took in the look on the Undertaker's face. "Why do I have the feeling your idea of, 'sorting me out', involves me naked in your bed?"

The ancient gave him a lecherous grin. "And what's wrong with that?" He put the suitcase down and he reached out to capture a lock of Grell's crimson hair, bringing it to his smiling lips. He kissed it, stroking it softly over his lips before leaning in to nuzzle the smaller reaper's cheek.

"I only want to please my lady love," he whispered huskily. He ran his nails softly over Grell's shoulder, while planting gentle kisses on his cheek and ear. "But if the lady isn't receptive..."

He pulled away slowly and spread his hands. "I suppose I could get to work in the basement."

Wagging his finger at the mortician, Grell spat back. "Now I never said I had a problem with it. Only that It would not surprise me. I... well... after last night."  
  
Getting flustered, the redhead began to blush deeply. Never once had he dreamt of ever coming across such a man with an appetite to match his own.

"I believe you were at least half responsible for last night," chuckled the mortician. "I've got my second wind back, though, and I'm quite ready for a repeat performance."

Without warning, he scooped Grell up bride-style into his arms and he began to carry him toward the curtain leading to the private living area in the back. "Of course, if my lady really wants me to put her down, I will," he assured the sputtering redhead with a wink. At his mental command, the bolt lock on the front door of his shop slid shut to ensure nobody would come calling while he was busy a-courting.

"If you had planned on us not leaving bed, then why did we leave my boudoir this morning?" The redhead asked haughty, clinging to the mad-man. His libido stirred in anticipation.

Undertaker kissed him deeply, until he reached the curtain and had to stop to push it aside with a booted foot. "Because I wanted you out of there, my love." He carried him through the threshold and brought the sconces to life with a mental nudge. "After that encounter with your 'associates', I thought it best to put my selfish lust in a box and take care of keeping you safe, first. Call me a doting, overprotective idiot, but I needed you to be _here_ before I allowed myself the distraction of making love to you again."

He pressed his nose affectionately against Grell's. "But I'll remind you I'm no caveman, my dear. Say the word and I'll stop."

Grell stared wide-eyed at the mortician. "Do you think I am crazy? Why under Heaven would I pass up a chance to be naked in your arms? Though at the rate we are going at it... we shall never accomplish another thing in this world."

 

* * *

 

-To be continued

 


	6. Chapter 6

Grell plastered a kiss to the retired reaper’s cheek as they entered the Undertaker’s inner sanctum. His big, beautiful, pink canopied bed lay before them. He wanted to hold his companion’s naked body as they made love once again upon it. Grell giggled at the memory of their misunderstanding over the colour of it.

"What are you giggling about, cheeky thing?" Undertaker was smiling as he lowered Grell onto the bed and climbed on top of him.  He immediately began pressing kisses against his throat, and he retracted his fingernails as he started to deftly unfasten the dress.

Shaking his head, Grell dismissed the comment and the thought. He locked his eyes onto the Undertaker’s face, watching as he undressed him. “Rough and hard?”

Undertaker worked free the lacings on Grell’s dress, his mouth moving more insistently against the fair skin.  "If that’s what you want, darlin’, I’m more than happy to give it to you."

Grell pushed the Undertaker back, so he could look at him. “Last night… we… well what I am trying to say is… is there something you would like to do to me? Kinds of games or fantasies? I-I would let you do whatever you wish to me.” The redhead inquired as he searched the mortician’s eyes.

His declaration gave the older reaper pause, and he looked into his eyes searchingly.  He propped himself up on one arm and he gently removed the glasses from Grell’s face, putting them safely on the bedside table.  That he would trust him enough to give him such consent, after what he’d been through, was further confirmation that there was something special growing between them…besides his crotch.

He caressed Grell’s face and stared down at him somberly, excited but worried he might take it too far.  "There are so many things I’d love to do with you, my dear, but I don’t want to go out of your comfort zone.  We’ve had some rough sex already—even bloody—but I allowed you to set the pace with that.  Is there a…word or phrase you’d like to use that will signal me to stop, if you feel unsafe?”

Blinking, Grell looked at the mortician in confusion. “I don’t quite understand. I am offering myself to you. If I asked you to stop at any time that would be like taking a gift back, once given.” He shook his head. “Do whatever brings you pleasure. I promise, I can handle whatever you do to me.”

The mortician ached with need at those words, and he sighed.  Well then, if Grell wanted him to loose the beast on him, that was what he’d get.  He’d tried to be considerate about it to ensure the consent was ongoing, but he supposed he’d just have to rely on his instincts to detect if Grell really wanted him to stop at any point. 

He got up from the bed then, leaving his companion lying there with that puzzled look painted on his fair features.  "Be right back, lovely," he promised.  "Don’t move."

Expecting his order to be obeyed, Undertaker left the bedroom and went into the basement.  He walked over to the supply closet and he got out his key ring to unlock it.  The door creaked on its hinges—having not been opened for some time.  Within the closet were instruments of restraint and torture that he generally only used when interrogating someone for information.  There was much more to his role as the Phantomhive informant than most people would guess…but he hadn’t found a need to resort to that sort of thing since Ciel took on the family legacy.  His pet demon made Undertaker’s job quite cushy.

Of course, some of those items could be used for pleasure, as easily as pain.  He ignored the deadly array of hooks, vices, hammers and pokers and he went straight for the iron restraints.  Thinking of Grell’s delicate skin, he grabbed some padding—a thing he only used rarely, when he got the chance to play with the more sensual purposes his collection could be used for.  Draping the irons and their chains over one arm, he tucked the padding beneath the other and he headed back up the stairs and into the bedroom.

He stood at the doorway with the items, allowing his lover to see them for himself before falling into his role and actually using them.  He gave it a moment to sink in, watching Grell with a steady gaze and a slight, sadistic little smile.

Grell swallowed, hiding his apprehension. He trusted the Undertaker didn’t he? Of course he did. “Am I to be your prisoner this evening?” The redhead asked as he took in the sight of the old irons. Pushing himself up onto his knees, Grell held onto the bed post for support. “What is my crime? I demand to know.”

"The crime," said the older reaper, "is in being entirely too desirable for your own good, Madame Sutcliff."

He approached the bed, his smirk losing some of its menace as his playful side surfaced again.  "You’ve made Death jealous, and randy.  The punishment is to suffer a brutal tongue lashing, followed by tickles and finally, a good and proper fucking.”

Somehow, he managed to say all of this with a relatively straight face…but it was hard.  He intended to show the redhead his more aggressive side in full, but he somehow couldn’t bring himself to be as verbally menacing with Grell as he originally intended.

Tilting his head, Grell’s eyes looked over the kooky mortician. “I am giving you the chance to be ruthless, chain me or what ever else you like. Even beat me if that is your wish and you want to be funny?” With a huff, Grell climbed from the bed.  
  
He walked up to Khronos and poked him in the chest. “If you want to fuck me… fuck me. If you want to make jokes… I shall be in the… the bath.”

"Oh, no you don’t," announced the Undertaker as his companion tried to walk past him.

Damnably ticklish funny bone or not, he wasn’t going to allow this opportunity to pass him up.  He reached out and caught Grell around the waist, and he hefted him over his shoulder with a grunt.  He’d dropped the padding in the process, but he could retrieve it after he had him secured.  He started to carry him to the bed, but he thought that was a bit too cliché for his purposes.  He turned around instead and started to carry him through his living quarters and to the stairs leading down to his basement.

He shifted him to a more secure position as Grell gave a good show of a struggle—or perhaps it was real.  He was sure the redhead could break his hold if he really wanted to, so he kept going.  He gave him a firm smack on the bottom when his elbow dug into his back, and he spoke in a tone he hadn’t used since his mentoring days.

"Shut it and stop your thrashing, if you know what’s good for you." 

Grell froze at the sound of the Undertaker’s tone. A genuine shiver ran up his spine. “Khronos? Why are you taking me to the basement?”  
  
The redhead stared at the ground as he lay slumped over his lover’s shoulder. The light from upstairs slowly fading behind them as darkness cloaked them with each step down the old staircase. Grell tried to turn to see ahead of them, but in the position he had been placed, he could not. He was truly at the mortician’s mercy now. Undertaker was an ancient, he had abilities that young reapers like himself might never develop. He might be able to best him in a scythe verse scythe match, but Khronos could do things that Grell could only dream of. He had no choice but to trust him…trust that Khronos had genuine feelings for him and was not using him purely for sex.

"I’m taking you to do what I please with you," answered the ancient, his voice carrying the chill of the grave.  "Isn’t this what you wanted, pet?"

He carried him over to the examination table, and he bent over a bit to roughly drop him onto it.  He dropped the restraints in the process, but no matter.  He didn’t need them, now.  The table had its own restraints built into it—not as strong as the manacles he’d selected, but enough to hold Grell still until he could apply them.  He forced the redhead down onto his back and he held his wrists down on either side of him, mentally commanding the clamps to snap shut over them. 

"There," he purred.  "That’s better.  Now for the feet.”

Grell’s struggles were definitely increasing, but the mortician was at a point beyond caring.  He grabbed one of the redhead’s ankles in an iron grip and shoved it down.  Once the clamp fastened over it, he did the same with the other.  Satisfied that his “prisoner” was secured for now, he whistled a macabre little tune as he retrieved the irons he’d dropped. 

"Now, don’t be fussy," he warned, glancing sidelong at the straining redhead as he opened the first set and checked the links.  "I’ll pad these up nicely so they don’t chafe that pretty skin of yours, my dear.  It wouldn’t do for them to leave marks on you that I intend to inflict, myself.”

Taking a deep breath, Grell tried to calm his nerves. The table was cold against his back. The dress he was wearing was a simple walking dress, with not much protection from the slab he was forced to lay upon. He could do this for his lover. Khronos was not Wundt. He would not hurt him to be mean. He would not use his body. Still, doubt fluttered to his mind and he wondered if he should not have suggested such things, but this was part of love, wasn’t it? Wundt always said only sick reapers fought against such fantasies. Normal ones indulged their partners.  
  
Grell swallowed, his brows furrowing as he asked, “Khronos, I know I have been bad, but what is it you intend to do with me?”

"I intend to make a point," said the mortician lightly. 

He wrapped the padding around the inside of the manacles, tying it in place with some suturing line.  He cast a flashing glance Grell’s way, and he smiled at him, the thick, white lashes veiling his eyes as they became heavy-lidded.  It was a look that could either be interpreted as sensual or devious, depending on his mood.  He walked over to the table and pulled his hair over one shoulder as he released Grell’s wrists one at a time, only to secure the irons over them.

"I’m going to remind you of your promise to me, the first time we lay together."  He forced Grell’s wrists up over his head, and he pulled the chains taut and clamped them to a rung in the floor, leaving no give for him to move his arms from that vulnerable position.  "You’re mine, Grell Sutcliff.  After tonight, there won’t be any doubt of that.”

Seeing a shadow of true anxiety in the redhead’s gaze, Undertaker winked at him; a quick, silent reassurance that no true harm would come to him.  Scaring people was generally one of his favorite hobbies, but he still wanted Grell to know he was safe.  He moved on to secure his stocking-clad ankles, hoping his lover had caught the subtle message.

A tremor surged through the redhead’s body. Someone else had said that to him once. Grell closed his eyes. An image of Wundt appeared before him. He was kneeling along side Grell’s naked body, his breath feathering over the redhead’s sensitive ear.

 _"You are mine Sutcliff. Tonight, tomorrow, always."_  
  
Gradually, Grell opened his eyes. “How are you going to remind me of that promise, Khronos?” 

The mortician glanced at him, and he didn’t answer.  Instead, he ran his hands over Grell’s legs, letting them slide up the long, lean muscles, pushing up underneath the hem of his dress.  He lowered his mouth to the right leg as he exposed it to the thigh, and he kissed the bare flesh above the line of the stocking.  He planted another kiss above that, and another after that.  Grell really didn’t allow him to play the way he’d like, very often.  The redhead tended to run hot and cold; one moment telling him to do as he wished, and the next demanding something else. 

Not tonight, though.  Tonight, Undertaker would have his way, and he’d take his blessed time with it.  He ran his nails over the sensitive, vulnerable skin of the inside of Grell’s other thigh as he took his time kissing and nuzzling the right one.

Grell pulled at the binds above his head, something felt wrong. He began to panic inside, with second thoughts. He closed his eyes once more as tears formed behind his lids.  
  
 _"Sutcliff, you are a lovely creature. Your skin is like cream."_

The words were rolling across his memory. He was in the mental ward, curled up in a ball. The feel of finger tips gliding up his leg, starting at the ankle.

_"Your hair is silky and you smell… like fresh strawberries."_

Shivers racked the redhead as the fingertips brushed the insides of his thighs.

 _"_ _Don’t fight it Erdbeere. I will not hurt you."_

Undertaker heard something that didn’t sound remotely like a noise of arousal.  It was choked, like a sob caught in the throat.  He looked up the length of his “captive’s” body to see the glistening path of a tear as it etched its way down Grell’s temple, visible as the redhead turned his head to the side.  The mortician stopped what he was doing, unsure of how his gentle touch could have evoked such a distressed moment, but wholly uninterested in dragging it out.

"Grell," he called, walking over to the head of the table.  He reached out to wipe the tears from his lover’s face, and he shook his head.  "Enough of this game, I think."

Undertaker reached for his keys and began to unlock the chains binding his lover to the examination table.  Fun was fun, but this?  He’d made the lowest of scum scream and cry for mercy on more than one occasion, but never his lovers…until Grell.

"I don’t get my jollies from making a lady cry."  He opened the wrist restraints first, and he slipped his hands beneath Grell’s back to help him into a sitting position.  "Here now, it’s all right."

"What are you doing?" Grell asked confused as he sat up and stared at the Undertaker. "Why did you release me? I gave you permission to do as you please. Isn’t this what you want? Did I do something wrong?" He searched his lover’s eyes. "I don’t understand."  
  
Despite the fear he felt inside, Grell could not help but feel as if he had displeased his lover, let him down. He choked on another sob as he tried to read the expression on the retired reaper’s face.

"This isn’t what I wanted," clarified the Undertaker.  He released Grell’s ankles from their restraints.  He scooped Grell up into his arms, struggling to explain.  "I like to play, little rose, but not to the point where it causes real torment to someone I genuinely care about.  I think…I’ve a better idea.”

He kissed him on the tip of the nose, and he began to carry him to the stairs.  "One that can satisfy my desires, without causing you undue discomfort.  I may seem a sick old bastard in many ways, but I can’t enjoy your tears.”

"Put me down!" Grell struggled until he was set on his feet. "No. I saw how hungry that made you. I… If you… I can do that for you. I don’t want to deny you your pleasure. That would be selfish of me. Ignore me. Take me. Do as you like." In a stentorian voice he pushed at the Undertaker’s chest. "It doesn’t matter if I was uncomfortable. You are suppose to be able to do what you want with me. That is what a lover is allowed."

"Even if he can’t enjoy it when he’s doing it?" countered the mortician with a growl.  "I told you the day my paint fell on you and left you in a sodden heap: I don’t like tears."

He grabbed the smaller reaper by the shoulders without warning and pushed him against the wall, his eyes blazing behind the veil of his bangs.  "Do you want to be hurt, Sutcliff?  Is that what you need?  Yes…yes, it excites me to think of restraining you, of having my bloody way with you until we’re both a ruined pile of sweat, spunk and drivel…but it’s not _fun_ for me if I know my touch is making you think of things that _he_ did to you!”

Undertaker let him go, startled once more by the passion of his own responses.  Grell just knew how to push his buttons, how to provoke every protective, loving, jealous, angry emotion in him that he would normally keep well-hidden behind a toothy grin and a scratchy voce.  He un-ceremoniously kicked a nearby bucket—ordinarily used for catching body fluids when embalming the dead—and it clattered against the far wall of the basement. 

Shaking his head, the mortician slumped, and he combed his fingers through his disheveled white hair.  "What I want to do to you is for mutual pleasure and fun," he said in a rough, low voice.  "And I already have enough fun at the expense of others.  I want someone to do it with me…and I can tell an act from sincere dread, my dear.”

Stunned, Grell stared after the mortician. “I… I thought you wanted…” Slowly he walked up to Khronos and knelt down before him, resting his hands on the retired reaper’s knees. Softly he spoke, “But if it gives you pleasure to…” he motioned towards the table. “Why should it matter what I think or feel? I don’t want to deny you anything.”

The ancient looked down at him and sighed, stroking his bright hair softly.  He knelt before him and looked him in the eye.  "It matters because I can’t take any pleasure in your pain, love.  If this was just a casual, one-off encounter, I wouldn’t care so much.  Honestly, I’ve only ever indulged myself that way with people I don’t give two shits about, except for a quick shag.”

He looked away, his gaze straying to the forgotten restraints now lying on the floor of the basement.  "I’d like to let myself go with you, but only if you can endure it." 

"Khronos, I want you to enjoy yourself. I’ve endured a lot. I can’t say I enjoy it, per se. It’s just, isn’t this how it’s suppose to be? Aren’t you suppose to take what you want from me? My feelings are not suppose to matter." Grell quivered as he leaned into the mortician’s touch.

The Undertaker looked at him again, measuring him.  Yes, Grell had been through a lot; and he’d proved himself quite the lunatic in a fight.  Perhaps he _could_ take it.  Maybe Khronos was just being wrong-headed about it, looking at his tears the wrong way.  Could it, perhaps, be therapeutic for Grell to offer himself this way?  To freely give to him what Wundt had so blatantly taken by force?

Having never been a victim of such a violation before himself, the ancient could only theorize.  Grell had only shared a pittance of what happened between them with him, and Khronos believed he would one day share more if he felt safe enough to.  He battled with himself, his body reacting with lust at the thought of going through with the things he’d originally planned.  If he knew that those tears weren’t going to leave Grell scarred…knew that he would accept his comfort when it was finished, then perhaps…

"This is why I suggested safe word," he explained softly.  "Some sign to let me know if it truly becomes too much for you.  I could go on despite your tears, if I know you’ve got a coffin bell to ring in case of emergency.”

Shaking his head, Grell softly spoke. “I wouldn’t use it. I am not weak. Why do you refuse my… my gift? If I cry. If I scream. If I struggle. If I say no, just ignore it. Those are just reactions.”

Undertaker stared at him.  ”” _Just reactions’_ ,” he pondered.  "Hmm.  Are those his words or yours, love?” 

He sighed and shook his head, getting to his feet.  "You want me to victimize you, but that’s not how a relationship works.  I won’t be your abuser, Grell…not even if you ask it of me.  I…care…to much to play that role with you, now.  Had you offered this to me a month ago, perhaps I’d have taken you up on it.  Now it’s far too personal.  I won’t hurt you just so you can fit back into the role he designed for you and you’ve apparently accepted.”

He turned away, letting his silver hair fall back down over his eyes as he bowed his head.  "I’ve done enough harm to the few souls I’ve loved in this world.  Asking me to torment you with no reprieve or comfort…to ignore your tears without knowing when it’s too much…I refuse.”

Grell rose and walked up to Khronos. Timidly he reached out and touched his arm. “But I… I don’t understand. Isn’t it your desire to do what you want with me? T-to pleasure yourself? You’ve allowed me pleasure. Why…isn’t that what men want? To dominate? To control? To take regardless? I know you are not callous. It’s the least I can do, after all you have done for me.”  
  
Stepping in front of the Undertaker, Grell uttered a command. “Khronos, look at me.”  
  
When the mortician looked up, the redhead backed away a few steps, Grell reached behind himself and undid the last of the laces on his dress. Loosened, he slipped the sleeves from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, pooling around his feet. The table was just behind him. He could feel the cold slab as he touched it with his hands, leaning back against it. Grell stood wearing a red corset and matching silk pantaloons. Red stockings to his thighs, held up with black garters.

Undertaker stared at the spectacle, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard.  He was thankful that his bangs had covered most of his eyes again, partially concealing the lust in them.  The sight of his lover in that ensemble made him spring a happy for certain, but he considered the words Grell had just said to him, and he compressed his lips.

_~He doesn’t know how to be loved.  It’s all just…pain and submission to him; like he feels he owes me something for the pleasures I’ve given.~_

He longed to run his hands over the long, lean-muscled thighs and legs, to push Grell back onto that table, restrain him and take that set of garments apart with his teeth…but his mind kept repeating the redhead’s choice of words.  To dominate…to control…most especially, to take regardless.  Undertaker did enjoy being the dominant partner in bed, but he was no rapist, and the desperation in Grell’s haunted eyes told him that was what he thought he needed from him.

"Grell…"  His voice cracked and he tried again, subtly hunching over to try and hide how very aroused his body was.  It was only flesh.  The younger reaper’s reasons for doing this was like a cold splash of water to his mental arousal, and any coupling they did now would be meaningless and shallow.  "I can’t speak for other men, but what I want in the one I’ve chosen to be with is a sharing of pleasure…give and take.  Not just me taking and the other lying there crying and enduring it.  Even if I’m holding you down or binding you, I need to know you really want it, love…not just for me, but for yourself, too.”

Turning away, Grell looked at the slab. “I want to give you… what you desire most. You want to bind me. I can see it in your eyes. I am sure your fantasies run dark. Mine did once as well.” He confessed, before spinning back around. “I want you to make me your victim.”

Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest adamantly.  "What _I_ desire most, or what you do?  I’ve told you what I want, darlin’.  I’ve already had plenty of victims.  I want a companion now, and we didn’t begin this relationship on the premise of me torturing you for giggles.  If you really want to enjoy a bit of roughness and chains with me, you’ll have to give me a safe word.”

He bent over and retrieved the discarded dress, holding it up for display.  "If you can’t agree to that, you can put this back on and stuff the entire idea."

"Fine." Grell grabbed the dress from his lover’s hands and tossed it over his shoulders. "You want me to have a safe word. I will take one, but under one condition."  
  
Poking the mortician in the chest, with his eyes narrowed, Grell laid down his condition. “You can’t hold back. I give you permission to be as dark as you like and if I get to afraid or I can’t handle it I will say… I will say… Wundt.” He looked up. His finger stopped moving. “I can’t guarantee I won’t tear up. That is a normal reaction, but if you start to go to far and make me think of him. I will say his name. I promise.”

The mortician considered the compromise, relaxing a bit.  Truth be told, though his body was still aroused, his passion had cooled.  The mood for play was gone for now, and he wondered how Grell would react to that.  He watched the smaller reaper quietly for a moment, admiring the sight of him in that ensemble even though he had no interest in finishing what he’d started, tonight.  He felt like he’d just been through a battle.  Trying to make Grell understand why a safe word was so important to him had been a daunting task, indeed.

Undertaker reached out to touch the pale splendor of Sutcliff’s face, tracing his lovely, effeminate features gently with his fingernails.  "I can’t tell you how much that puts my mind at east, darlin’.  Unfortunately, you’ve worn old Khronos out with this arguing.”

He smiled at him, bracing for an outburst.  "Not that you aren’t a sight to tempt _any_ man, but I think I’d rather cuddle you right now than chain you up.”

Feeling defeated and confused, Grell nodded. ” I see.”

No screams nor shouts came from the redhead, instead he quietly walked around the table and picked up his dress. Draping it over his arm, he stopped in front of the mortician. “I should let you get some work done. I can’t say I fully understand you… but I think I shall lie down for a bit. I don’t feel so well at the moment. If you need me…” He looked towards the stairs, letting his sentence fade away.

Undertaker stopped him.  "Now hold on a moment," he insisted.  "I didn’t say I don’t want to be near you.  I’ve just lost the drive to continue what we were doing before.”

He put his arms around him and pulled him close.  "I don’t need to play that game with you tonight to enjoy you, love.  You said you wanted me to do with you as I wish; and right now, I just want to do this.”

He lowered his mouth to Grell’s and kissed him softly, having faith that he wouldn’t decide to bite him with those sharp teeth of his.  It was a gesture of trust as much as affection, with the redhead in such a volatile mood.

Grell’s eyelids fluttered, before closing. His dress slid from his arm as he melted into the mortician’s warm embrace. Slowly he snaked his arms around the Undertaker’s neck. Tipping his head to the side, his lips gradually parted. “Mmm…” he moaned contently.

Sensing that he might be forgiven for refusing the gift Grell had tried to give to him, Undertaker put his arms around him and deepened the kiss.  They could play the game another time, when he’d had the chance to mentally fortify himself against the tears he knew he was going to cause.  It was still too fresh; this knowledge that some quack had abused his lover right under Dispatch’s collective noses, and nobody except him and Ronald was willing to do anything about it.  Had he been ignorant of Wundt’s actions, he might have thought the crimson reaper was only playing a role for him and he mightn’t have gotten rattled, but…

"I’m sorry, love," murmured Khronos between kisses, feeling compelled to offer one last apology and reassurance.  His confidence was returning, now that he’d negotiated a safe word for his lover to use.  "I’ll gladly accept your gift when I’m not so feather-headed over it.  For now, though…”

Ignoring the discarded dress, he swept Grell up off his feet.  "A bit of pampering is in order, I think."

He also had a mind to appreciate that delightful number Grell was wearing.  He’d failed to mention to him that the sort of play he’d initially had in mind would have resulted in that lovely combination lying in ribbons on the floor.  It looked rather expensive, and he’d already experienced the drama that could ensue when anything unfortunate happened to his favorite clothes.

Grell looked the Undertaker in the eyes as he was carried up the stairs. “Are you angry with me… for not wanting to use a safe word? I didn’t mean to loose my temper either. You’re just so different. You drive me insane and I am already clinically declared as insane or I use to be. I guess I am trying to understand why you don’t want to use me. I assumed you would and you looked so pleased when I was bound. I don’t want to have ruined anything for you. I am sorry that… ” Grell laid his chin on Khronos’ shoulder and whispered. “That, I cried.”

Undertaker shook his head, and he pushed the doorway separating the basement stairs from the rest of the living quarters, nudging it open with his boot.  "You didn’t spoil anything, my dear.  I’m simply not used to playing a game like that with someone I have genuine feelings for; and knowing that ‘doctor’ did…whatever all he did to you…I’ve got to feel my way into it.”

He kissed him lightly on the nose as he carried him through the hallway, heading for the bedroom.  "I need to know you can feel safe with me, is all.  It might seem a silly thing to you, but the safe word is as much for my piece of mind as your protection.  I can play the fiend and have fun while I’m doing it, but the act has to be separate from reality.  I need to be able to comfort you afterwards, without you withdrawing from me.  Don’t know if that makes much sense to you, love, but you cope with your situation differently than Vivian did with hers.  She was…very fragile.  Took a lot of time, patience and care to get to where I could touch her without causing her tears, and it wasn’t because she didn’t want to.”

He nuzzled Grell’s hair as he carried him through the door.  "So just try to be patient with me, darlin’.  I’m trying to learn what works and what doesn’t, and the protective side of me recoils at the thought of causing you any sincere distress.”

"I don’t quite know how to respond. You treat me like Ronnie, but you know…" Grell looked away, turning his head slightly. "Differently."  
  
Grell let out a few giggles before going on. “Differently in the sense that Ronnie and I would never… like you and I.” He shook his head as he met the mortician’s gaze. “Ronnie has been gracious since the day we met. I on the other hand not so gracious, especially when he nearly lopped all of my hair off with his damn scythe. I could have killed him right where we stood. Unfortunately demons stood in my way and I had to save his rookie arse.”  
  
He reached up and touched the Undertaker’s cheek. “I am not a toy to Ronnie. And I don’t believe I am a toy to you. Thank you.”

Undertaker beamed at him, suddenly fearing he might blush.  "I’m glad to hear that you and your Ronnie will never get up to the things that you and I do."  He spoke the next in a whisper, brushing his lips against Grell’s ear.  "And I may treat you as a toy when we play, but you’re perfectly welcome to do the same with me…and that’s all in fun."

He winked at him, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes beneath the fringe of his bangs.  "Besides, an _actual_  toy wouldn’t give me so much trouble.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Grell raised his chin in the air and closed his eyes. He huffed in response. “I am not the trouble maker.”

Finding his response completely charming, the mortician chuckled and gave him a little squeeze.  "Oh, really now?  Burying me in salt couldn’t be construed as troublesome, eh?  Not that it wasn’t an entertaining experience, of course.”

He nibbled the redhead’s earlobe. “And what about the time when you stole that poor choirboy’s uniform, hmm?  I’m also quite sure it was you that painted the words: ‘Old Loon’ on the back of my travel cart.  I haven’t forgotten the sign you pinned to the back of my robes when I assisted Dispatch with the reaping in London, back when that angel flipped its top.”

He chose not to mention the Ripper events, wanting to keep it light. 

"Hey! That little brat did not look nearly as delightful as me in that uniform. And how would you know? You weren’t even there to witness how fetching it was on me." He scowled at his lover. "And besides you ended up in that pot as punishment. Had you not insulted my un-dead corpse, you would not have been placed in that bloody salt pot."  
  
Grell looked at the mortician, a funny, puzzled look on his face. “Why did you have a pot of salt in your shop? A small one I could see, but that was a rather large and unseemly pot.”

It took the older reaper a moment to stop laughing, and he eased Grell onto the bed and sat down beside him, looking him over with appreciation.  "The little lord told me all about your shenanigans inside the monastery.  Between you playing dress up and the butler lifting the skirts of the nun, the lad was fit to be tied.  As for the salt…well…er…”

He scratched his head, trying to remember what he’d been planning to do with all of that salt.  Was he going to make pickles?  Mummify some corpses?  He couldn’t recall.  Finally, he shrugged.  "I’m the Undertaker, that’s why.  I’m eccentric.”  He grinned and spread his hands. 

Blinking in utter disbelief, Grell’s lip began to curl. “I am going to stuff that little brat in a pot of salt one day. He didn’t even bother ordering that blasted demon of his from prodding the religious bi…” Quickly, Grell clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes growing round.

Undertaker’s brows went up, and he quietly envied Michaelis his ability to make Grell so violently jealous, without even trying.  "My, my…still jealous over that, are we?"  He sighed, smirking ruefully.  At least he knew Sebastian wasn’t likely to take advantage of Grell’s attraction for him.  He wondered if the redhead would ever react that way over _him_ , if another person tried to get him to “prod” them.

"I am not jealous of that tart. I just forgot myself for a moment," He replied haughty. "Besides… I have no more interest in Sebastian. He toyed with my heart much to frequently and Ciel never made good on the deal he cut me, for protecting his little bum. They are both liars and manipulators and I want nothing more to do with either of them."

Undertaker tapped his smiling lips absently with a nail.  "Hmm, I’ll take your word for it."  He slid his hand up the smaller reaper’s bare arm, before settling it on his shoulder and kneading the tension he found there.  He retracted his fingernails so as not to claw him in the process.  "Less competition for me."

Grell slowly closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. The massage felt heavenly to him, and he imagined this must be what Heaven would feel like, to a reaper. He sighed softly before asking, “Khronos, do you think we are moving to fast? It has been only a couple of days since I ended up here, covered in paint. Should I be feeling so much, so soon? I know we are reapers and mortal logic and rules need not apply to us, but I cannot help but wonder.”

Undertaker shrugged.  "The way I see it, you and I’ve known each other for much longer than that.  The relationship we’ve got now is new, but we aren’t just a pair of strangers that hopped into bed upon first meeting and started to shag.  It’s not as if either of us is proposing marriage.”

Undertaker leaned in and brushed his lips against Grell’s ear.  "But if you want to take it slower, we can. I’ve already decided you’re worth investing time and effort into, love.  Time is something I have in abundance.”

A shiver wiggled its way down Grell’s spine, his body trembling in response. “No. I just wanted to be sure that you were truly okay with the speed at which we are  moving.” He turned around to face his lover. “I wish I could stay here forever in your arms. I dread returning to work, when I have to. Not with a copy cat running around.”

Undertaker stroked his hair soothingly, his expression darkening a bit with protective feelings.  He’d gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of passion, drama and laughs of his newfound relationship with this reaper that he’d neglected to move as quickly as he should have.  "Then we’d best see to finding this copycat and taking care of the good doctor quickly."

He started to get up.  "I’ll begin pulling some strings now, my dear.  I’ve still got trustworthy contacts I can rely on, within the organization.  Some of them still owe ol’ Khronos a favor or three.”

"This instance?" Grell asked as he reached out and grabbed his lover’s hand. "I thought you wanted to cuddle me. Perhaps we can snuggle for just a bit and then you can do what you must." He smiled up at his lover. His thumb stroking the back of Khronos’ hand.

The older reaper paused, and a smile flitted over his lips.  "I did vow to pamper you a bit, didn’t I?"  He sat back down on the bed and drew Grell into his embrace.  "Sorry, my dear.  I almost neglected you.  What an unforgivable sin.”

He cupped the redhead’s chin and tilted his head back to kiss him on the lips, tongue lightly stroking between them in a silent request for entry.

Grell’s head tilted back. His lips parted and his eyes closed. Sliding his arms around his lover’s waist, he pulled Khronos near. A soft moan passed his lips and filtered into the retired reaper’s mouth. His toes curled against the hard surface of the floor below his feet. The hairs on the back if his neck began to rise and they were not the only thing beginning to rise. As a shiver of pleasure shimmied its way down his body, and his pantaloons grew tight. His arousal pressed against the silk fabric. His pulse quickened and his temperature rose. With flushed cheeks, he broke the kiss, his lips swollen.  
  
“Khronos…” He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “Make love… to me.” Grell’s hand slid from around his lover’s waist and stopped when it reached his heart. His eyes searched the Undertaker’s as the next statement fell from his lips. “I’ve never made real, honest love before.”

Undertaker nearly asked him what he thought he’d been doing with him, but then it dawned on him that he was asking for tenderness; a gentler experience than what they typically got up to in bed.  He smiled, happy to oblige him.  He’d actually _tried_ to make love to him like that before, but the impatient darling always roused his passions and it turned into fucking.  In fact, he suspected that the same might happen again tonight, if Grell was free to move as he wished.  That posed a dilemma, but then Undertaker remembered the suggestion he was going to make earlier, to ease them both into bondage play.

"I’d take great delight in making love to you, my dear," murmured the ancient, "but you have a tendency to bring out the beast in me, so in the interest of not spoiling it, I’ve got a proposal for you."

Grell nodded, “Yes, what is it you would like to propose?”

Khronos took the younger reaper’s hands in his, brought them each to his lips for a kiss, and then crossed the wrists over one another.  He captured them with one long hand and he bore Grell down gently, guiding him onto his back and holding his wrists together over his head.  He smiled against his lips as he kissed him, excited by the thought of playing a little, even if they didn’t carry on with the original plan.

"Why don’t we try scarves, first?" suggested the mortician.  He brushed his lips over the fine planes of Grell’s face, kissing the soft skin lightly as he trailed over the bone structure.  "Nothing heavy, too tight or uncomfortable…just a bit of restraint while I make love to you, hmm?"

He released his wrists slowly, running his fingernails lightly over the pale, up-stretched arms.  “‘Course, we could cuddle for a while first, if you prefer.  I’m in no hurry, love.  The scarves don’t need to come into play until things really begin to heat up.”

Grell’s pulse quickened and his eyes widened as he was pinned delicately down. He hadn’t expected that, but then as the Undertaker began to speak and released his wrists, his pent up fear subsided. He swallowed, then parted his lips to speak. “W-whatever you think…. is best. Just don’t stop…” A tinge of pink rose to the surface of his cheeks. “Touching me.”

Undertaker smiled, his slow caress moving down to the creamy shoulders to skim over them, before toying with the lace on the corset.  "There’s hardly a chance of that, my dear."  His mouth continued its path, kissing the redhead’s collar bone before pausing at the v shape where it met Grell’s throat.  He traced that lovely clavicle with his tongue, his hands now sliding down over Grell’s waist.  He balanced himself with one arm as he stretched out beside him on the bed, resting one leg over Grell’s thighs before wedging his knee between them, silently bidding them to part.  His free hand traced a lazy path to the outer thigh, the nails retracting slowly to avoid inadvertently scratching the delicate skin.

"I do love to touch you," murmured the ancient.  He kissed his way back up Grell’s neck as he stroked his thigh.  "I adore how soft and smooth your skin is."  He started to snap open the fastening on the garter belt, but he thought better of it.  He liked it on his lover too much to remove it, just yet.  He kissed and sucked at his throat, letting his hand glide over Grell’s thigh to the inside of it.  He skimmed the surface of it lightly with his fingertips, slowly dragging them up toward the silk pantaloons and the bulge growing there.

"Khronos," Grell gasped.  
  
His eyes closed and he bit his bottom lip. Inch by inch, Grell’s legs spread a part, obeying the mortician’s request. He shivered with anticipation when the Undertaker’s knuckles brushed his burgeoning member. Instinctively he rolled his hips, begging to be touched. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his lover’s long silver tresses, careful not to snag his red painted nails in the silky locks.

Hearing the pleading tone in his voice, Undertaker guessed what he wanted and he obliged him.  He covered Grell’s mouth with in a kiss as he cupped between his legs and began to massage the hardness under the delicate garment he wore.  He loved the way Grell writhed when he touched him, loved the way he spoke his ancient name with such raw, open passion.  His tongue fenced with the redhead’s as he pleasured him, and he held off on removing the pantaloons to expose the swollen treasure beneath them.  He intended to make this last for a while, and he refused to be rushed. 

Growing a bit impatient to be touched and wanting his lover naked, Grell pawed at the Undertaker’s robes. He fumbled blindly with the buttons running down the front of the mortician’s clothing. Impetuous and burning with passion, the redhead, started to tear the black fabric.  The older reaper caught hold of his wrists and shook his head, grinning down at him and clucking his tongue.

"Now, now, pet…we have an agreement."  He forced the redhead’s wrists up and over his head, crossing them together and holding them tightly in place with one long hand.  "Looks as though I’ll have to bind you in place to keep you from misbehaving on me."

He’d had silk bindings in mind before, but knowing how impetuous his lover was, he decided his own belt might be more efficient, for a start.  Pressing Grell down on the mattress with his own weight, he held his wrists in place with one hand while untying the belt of his robes with the other.  He traced the complaining reaper’s lips with his tongue as he tugged the cloth belt free and used it to tie his wrists together firmly, before tying them to the brass bars above his head.  He ground his hips between Grell’s parted thighs, distracting him with the feel of his hard bulge rubbing intimately against his. 

"There now," said the mortician in satisfaction when Grell struggled to break the bindings and failed.  "Nice and secure.  Where was I?”

He balanced on one arm and ran his palm over the frustrated agent’s heaving chest, tweaking the partly exposed nipples before moving on to stroke the fine, lacy contours of the corset.  He lifted his hips and settled his hand over the swell of his lover’s arousal again, rubbing it through the panties once more.  "Settle down, my dear," he purred, kissing Grell’s neck as he fondled him.  "I’m going to make love to you as promised, but it seems you need a firm hand."

He gave the rigid length of Grell’s erection a squeeze through the material of his garments, smiling against his neck.

"Khronos… but this…this is… isn’t this what… the basement?" Grell stammered as he glanced above his head, taking in the sight of his hands bound. Confused, the redhead squirmed, but as the Undertaker’s fingers began to squeeze his sex, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He groaned in pleasure, lifting his hips off the mattress ever so slightly. Aching to be touched with his lover’s bare hand, Grell pressed his groin into the mortician’s stroking palm.

"That can come another time," assured the Undertaker softly, kissing his way from Grell’s throat to his chest.  "Tonight, I think we can satisfy a bit of my kink whilst still giving you what you requested, darlin’."

His lips left a damp trail over the smooth, pale skin as he meandered his way down to one rosy, erect nipple.  He tugged the reinforced material of the corset down a little with his teeth, and then he took the tightened bud between his lips and suckled it.  He flicked his tongue against it to give his captive lover tingling pleasure as he steadily rubbed his straining crotch.  He felt the dampness coming through the delicate material of the pantaloons and he paused his fondling to ease them down a bit—just enough to expose the flushed head of Grell’s cock.  He gently petted it, running his fingers over it almost teasingly as he tongued and sucked the redhead’s nipple.

"How… nngh.. is this making…" Grell swallowed hard, his mouth falling open. The rest of his words coming out in a soft whisper. "Love? You—Satan’s spawn, this is torture." 

The older reaper chuckled and moved his oral attentions to the other nipple, circling it with his tongue before tugging gently at it with his lips.  He released it briefly to explain.  "I take it you’ve never really been made love to before, my dear.  Such a thing requires time, and lots of pleasuring.  I want to savor every moan, every gasp and every cry from those beautiful lips; and I want _you_ to savor every sensation I give you.”

With that said, he resumed his patient licking and suckling, occasionally giving each nipple a gentle pinch with his teeth to keep them hard and erect for his attentions.  He slipped the pantaloons down further and gripped the length of Grell’s arousal, giving it a squeeze and a stroke.  He did it a few more times before lifting his hips and easing off to the side, so that he could pull the undergarment off of his lover.  He guided Grell to lift his legs and bend them at the knees so that he could slide the pantaloons off completely, and once that was finished he settled his hips between his stocking-clad legs again.  The garter belt was far too appealing to remove, and so he left it and the stockings on. 

He finally took a break from teasing Grell’s hard little nipples, and he kissed his way down the laced material of the corset.  He paused at Grell’s belly button, peeking out from beneath the bottom of the corset, and he teased it with his tongue before moving further down.  He pushed Grell’s legs apart further and guided them up so that they were resting on his shoulders, and he held the creamy hips with his palms as he licked up and down the length of his captive’s cock. 

Grell’s hips jerked from the sensation of his lover’s tongue as it circled around the head of his pulsing cock. Toes curling and knees shaking, the redhead began to whimper. “Merciful death! Please end this torture… I can’t.”  
  
His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the mortician’s mouth cover him completely. Ignoring his plea for mercy. For a moment, Grell thought for sure his heart had stopped beating. His breath got caught in his throat and his knuckles turned white from gripping the belt binding his wrists. His right leg began to slide off the Undertaker’s shoulder. Grell’s eyes watered slightly. The feeling of overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body…

Undertaker drew deeply on the hard, throbbing length, relaxing his throat to take it in completely.  He stroked the underside with his tongue, molding to the shape of it, and he raised his head to allow it to slide out to the tip, wet with saliva.  He did it again, turning his head a bit to sheath it at a different angle and sucking strongly all the while.  He smiled around the girth of it as Grell’s hips began to move, enjoying the sounds he was making.  He kneaded his hips with his fingers, leaving his nails out to lightly dig into the soft skin.

Releasing Grell’s sex with a wet popping sound, Undertaker smiled at him.  "Like that, pretty rose?  You complain, but your body tells an entirely different tale.”

Slowly the redhead opened his eyes and looked down at the grinning mortician. A soft moan passing his lips. “Khronos… let me come? I feel… feel like I am going to burst.” He requested, rubbing his foot up down his lover’s back.

"In due time, my dear…in due time," promised the older reaper.  He slid his hands around from Grell’s hips to his inner thighs, pushing them further apart.  "I’ve got a bit more playing to do, yet."

He targeted the plump sack of Grell’s balls next, hugging close to his body in their state of need.  He licked between them, he nuzzled them, and then he sucked on them gently.  He held the redhead’s thighs firmly as he played, taking great delight in the shocked gasp his actions provoked.  So often this area was neglected by many during loveplay, and he understood the value of a bit of stimulation there.  The younger reaper’s body shivered—practically convulsing in response to his loving attentions, and he kept going until the shaft above them was twitching and the testes themselves drew even tighter.

He stopped and he stretched out on top of Grell, rubbing his still-covered arousal firmly against the redhead’s naked groin.  He captured his lips in a demanding kiss, groaning himself with frustrated need.

Grell’s eyes automatically closed when his lips were captured. He groaned as he suckled his lover’s tongue. He rocked his hips back and forth in time with Khronos’. The feel of the mortician’s trousers was a delightful sensation against his sensitive flesh. His fingers began to itch, desiring to be free, to run through Undertaker’s glorious, silver locks.  
  
“Khronos.” The redhead whispered. “Do you not want to be inside me?” The question was sincere as Grell looked up at his lover. Trying to understand why the Undertaker was being so diligent in his pleasuring ministrations. Surely by now he would want to take him?

Undertaker ground himself against Grell again, demonstrating how hard he was.  "I absolutely want to be inside of you, my dear.  As much as it tortures me to delay, however, lovemaking isn’t just about penetration.  Having said that, however…” 

He sat up and undressed quickly, his black garments fluttering to the floor.  His boots followed, but he didn’t bother to remove the string of beads around his throat.  He reached for the nightstand, and the bottle of clear oil there.  He kissed Grell’s lips tenderly as he uncorked the bottle and poured some into one hand.  He put the bottle back, and he dipped the fingers of his other hand into his palm to slick them up with the oil there.  He kissed his lover again and sat back, with Grell’s legs still propped on his shoulders.  On his knees now between his thighs, he reached beneath the tight, swollen balls to finger the puckered little entrance there.  He gazed down at his lover, breathing heavily as he breached Grell with a finger.   

"Ahh…" Grell moaned, his hips rising, He bit down a little to hard on his lip. A tiny bead of ruby red blood bubbled from the swollen flesh. His cock growing harder in the process. Anticipation was building deep inside of his belly.

Undertaker pressed inside, sliding his finger in to the last knuckle before withdrawing and doing it again.  He curled it inside of Grell, stroking the internal gland he’d located.  As he stimulated him inside, he smeared the oil remaining in his palm over his own arousal, stroking it from root to tip to coat it liberally.  The mortician sighed as he did so, gazing down at his lover with heavy-lidded eyes. 

"Styx, I want you," he confessed in a deep, breathy voice.

Grell gulped and stared in awe at his lover. The way the words fell from his lips was different. Wundt had many times said the same thing. But he had always meant them in a lusty sense. The way Khronos said them, they held another meaning. It stirred an emotion, locked deep inside the redhead. Admiration and unconditional love.  
  
“I want you too.”

The mortician stopped stroking himself, mindful not to overdo it and end up spending himself before he could even begin.  He smiled at Grell, noticing the amazed look on his face.  He wasn’t quite sure about the reason for it, but he was too aroused to question it right now.  Making a mental note to inquire about it later, he finished preparing him and he turned his head to kiss the redhead’s calf, before positioning himself on top of him.  He lowered his head to lick away the blood on Grell’s lips, before tenderly invading him with his aching arousal.  He did it slowly; allowing his lover to adjust and feel every hard inch of him.

Staring up at his lover, Grell’s mouth fell open. A soft moan escaped his lips as Khronos pressed his cock inside, filling him. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into the soft flesh of his palms. “Kh-Khronos… ahh.” His hips lifted ever so slightly from the mattress, allowing the retired reaper deeper penetration.

Undertaker pressed in firmly to the hilt, and he lowered his head to kiss Grell’s throat.  A soft grunt of pleasure escaped him, and he withdrew slowly.  "Easy, my lovely lady," he murmured huskily, "nice and slow."  He pumped gently, entering Grell shallowly and withdrawing again to do it again; teasing him with just a taste of his length.  Hearing his moans, the older reaper smiled and pushed in all the way, holding steady within him and kissing his gasping lips.

"This feeling," gasped Khronos, "heavenly bliss, you fey, wild darlin’."  He withdrew again, tracing Grell’s lips with his tongue as he gave a couple more shallow pumps before sliding in completely again.

"Ahh…" Grell gasped. He struggled to free his hands, desperate to touch his lover. "Khronos….nngh… Let me go… please? I want to touch you." His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the mortician slid further into him. Breathlessly he complained. "I… I can’t. Lucifer! How is this… ahh… making love? Y-you’re t-torturing me."

The Undertaker grinned against Grell’s animated lips.  "Not just yet, love."  He thrust shallowly again, before driving it deep once more and rotating his hips to massage him inside.  "I want to savor you a while longer, before I release you."

He thrust his tongue into his mouth and swirled it around, caressing Grell’s intimately.  He gave a couple of hard, firm thrusts before withdrawing to the tip and pumping shallowly again.  Balancing on one arm, he teased one of the redhead’s peaked nipples with his fingertips.

Grell’s cock twitched between them, the nipple teasing causing the reaction. He gasped into his lover’s mouth, becoming impatient once more he tried to break free. Tearing his lips from the mortician’s, he groaned. “I made a mistake…. nngh… You’re killing me. Ahh…. Khronos?”

The older reaper growled softly in response, and he started to thrust harder and deeper.  Since Grell hadn’t employed his safe word, he refused his breathless pleas.  "Just a bit…longer.  Unh…feels so fantastic, love.”

He kissed his way down the redhead’s arching throat, his lips leaving a moist trail over his heaving chest as they made their way to the other nipple.  Still fondling the right one, he took the left into his mouth and he flicked his tongue over the hard little bud.  His pelvic thrusts increased in speed to match the force of them, and he groaned softly. 

Freezing, Grell softly spoke, “Khronos? Please.. I don’t want to be tied up any longer. I want to make love with you. I want to touch you. Be one with you. Don’t make me say his name.”

There was no way the older reaper could have ignored that heartfelt plea. He stared down at his lover and he slowed his movements to gentle thrusts again. He stopped teasing Grell’s body and he reached up to deftly loosen and tug free the bindings on his wrists, shaking his hair out of his eyes so that the younger reaper could see the tenderness in his gaze.  
  
“I never want you to feel unsafe with me, love.”

Now free, Grell threw his arms around the mortician’s neck, pulling him down and crushing their mouths together. He kissed the retired reaper hungrily and passionately. Eyes shut and soft moans passing to his lover. He wrapped his legs around Khronos’ waist, bucking gently to urge him to carry on.

The Undertaker complied readily, his thrusts returning to their previous intensity. He shuddered and lowered his head to kiss Grell, nostrils flaring with his quickening breath. A low groan of need reverberated in his throat, but he held back his aggression and made love to his companion’s mouth with his own, tension warring with tenderness.  
  
“So lovely,” gasped Undertaker between kisses. He pressed his lips against Grell’s nose, cheeks and chin, kissing softly. He slowed the speed of his thrusts again, but retained the force behind them. “Clenching so tight around me…making me swell even harder…mercy, I’m close!”

Grell let go of the mortician’s neck, slipping his hands under Khronos’ so that they could lace their fingers together, symbolic of being one. He began to pant heavily as he forced his eyes to stay open, keeping them locked with his lover’s. “I love you… Khronos.”

The older reaper cursed his own romantic nature as those words nearly drove him over the edge. No…not until his crimson lover was at completion. He smiled painfully down at him, eyes flashing with lust and more. “The feeling’s more than mutual, my dear.”  
  
He pumped faster, watching the way Grell’s lips rounded into a little “o” of pleasure as he drove his cock against that spot inside of him. The heavy-lashed eyes widened slightly, struggling to focus but remaining fixated on his. The Undertaker angled his thrusts purposefully, holding that passion-glazed stare with his own. He pushed his body beyond the limits of pleasure and he squeezed Grell’s hands, riding the very edge.

Feeling his own climax nearing, Grell dug his nails into the backs of his lover’s hands. His legs gripped tighter around the mortician’s waist, his moans growing louder with each thrust.  
  
“Nnngh… I’m gonna… ahh… ” Grell panted as his mouth fell open. He tilted his head back into the pillows stacked around him, exposing his delectable throat. Squeezing his eyes shut as he was pushed to the brink of existence. “Khronos!” His lovers’ name tore from his mouth as he was flung into the abyss of ecstasy.

"Oh God," gasped the Undertaker as his lover’s ass clamped down tight around his sex.  
  
He shoved in deep and bowed his head as the rhythmic squeezes finished him. He filled Grell to the brink, his body tensing all over with the sensation of his climax. He collapsed on top of him when it was over, breathing the scent of his hair in deeply. He kissed the redhead’s perspiration-dampened temple and he sighed against his ear, trying to catch his breath. His nose pressed against the shell of the smaller reaper’s ear as he smiled, quite pleased that he’d finally been allowed to make love to him. The act hadn’t fed his darker desires, but it had certainly fulfilled the romantic in him and made him feel like he was giving his lady the attention and care she deserved.  
  
“I really do think of you as a lady,” he whispered thoughtfully, nuzzling Grell’s ear. It came so easy to him, to refer to this unpredictable creature as both male and female without a second thought. Masculine and feminine…Grell flowed so easily between the two. “The best sort of lady; one that doesn’t shy away from my oddness. I’ll cherish you for that, love.”

Grell turned towards him, laying nearly on top of the retired reaper. His sweat soaked body sticking to his lover. Crimson locks draped around their heads, mingling with the silver tresses of the mortician. He clung as tight as he could, shivering as the air in the room kissed his damp skin.  
  
“I’ve never been with anyone like you before. No one ever calls me that. A lady. Thank you.” Grell pressed kisses to his lover’s chest.

"No need to thank me for seeing you as you are," insisted the mortician with a gentle squeeze. He let his head fall back on the pillows and he closed his eyes. "Just because some fools can’t see it doesn’t make you less a lady, my dear."

Looking up, Grell smiled. “I never want to spend another night without you touching me. I love the way your hands feel on my body. The taste of your lips upon my own. I want to spend eternity drunk…”  
  
Grell looked up over his left shoulder as the bell over, the shop door rang. He looked back at his lover pensively. “Didn’t you lock the door when we came in?”

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

The mortician’s expression immediately hardened, and he nudged Grell off of him to roll out of the bed. He immediately manifested his death scythe, not bothering with clothing. “I’m sure I did, love. Best arm yourself.”

Scrambling from the bed, Grell picked the Undertaker’s robe up from the floor, pulling it around his naked flesh. He did not have his chainsaw but summoned the pair of scissors he had been given in replacement. Quietly he crept behind his nude lover.  
  
The hall was dim, the shop darker. Sconces adorning the walls had yet to bit lit as the day’s warm light had begun to fade. Night time quickly blanketing the world once more in darkness. The only sound, Grell could make out was the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Undertaker didn’t even consider his lack of garments as he glided through the curtains leading into his shop; defending his territory and his lover was more important to him than modesty. He had his doubts that the intruder was a reaper. He’d warded his shop against uninvited Shinigami. However, he could sense the aura of a death god as soon as he stepped through the alcove, and he saw the silhouette of a man with feathered hair. His vision was too poor to make out the details, but the faint flicker of the sconces reflected off a pair of glasses.  
  
The mortician didn’t hesitate. He came at the intruder with deadly intent, his scythe moaning through the air as he swung it.  
  
“Shit!” Came the exclamation from a young male voice, and the stranger ducked in time to avoid getting beheaded. “Whoa, it’s just me!”  
  
Khronos paused long enough to gesture for the lights to flare up, and he peered down at the familiar young man sprawled on the floor, making a warding gesture with his gloved hands. He propped his scythe against the floor and grinned.  
  
“Well hullo there, Mr. Mustard. How exactly did you get in?” He’d already invited Ronald into his shop, but he still shouldn’t have been able to waltz right in.  
  
“I jimmied the lock,” answered the younger reaper as he scrambled to his feet. He averted his eyes. “Uh, ya might want to cover up, old man.”

Grell ran forward, past his nude lover, barking. “Ronald David Knox, what in the Hell are you doing back here? And Why are you breaking in, rather than knocking on the damn door?”  
  
But before the blond could utter a single word, Grell had him by the ear, dragging him across the shop to a coffin. Letting go, the redhead pointed to the black painted wood and ordered, “Now sit and explain yourself.”

Ronald looked between his mentor and the still-naked Undertaker, flustered. “W-well, I tried knocking but there wasn’t an answer, and I figured I ought to have a look around in case you’d been snatched up. I was gonna check your flat if you weren’t here, or leave a note for ya. Er…could you please put something on, Undertaker?”

The mortician glanced down at himself, and he shrugged. With a gesture, he manifested a form-fitting outfit of leather, buckles and black cloth to cover his pale body. “There. Better?”

Ronald eyed him warily, obviously recalling the last time he’d seen him in that outfit on board the ocean liner. “I guess.”

"Then tell us what you came to say," demanded the old reaper with a sharp grin. "You interrupted cuddle time."

Ronald heaved a sigh. “I didn’t need to hear that. Anyhow, one of the girls in Intel found something about Senpai and the doctor in the files for me.” He scratched his head and looked at Grell with a faintly worried expression on his young face. “Something about hypnosis. I only got some of it but…did he mess with your head, Senpai?”

Grell looked down fidgeting. His body swaying slightly. “Possibly. I don’t know for sure.” He mumbled. “Excuse me a moment.”  
  
Feeling sick, Grell ran to the bathroom. He pulled a cloth from the linen closet and rinsed it under cold water. After wringing it out he placed it against his cheeks. As he looked in the mirror. His reflection was replaced with an image; a memory. He was staring up at the white ceiling of the mental ward. His eyes were being forced open by the two goons. He was strapped to the table, he could remember the feeling of the leather around his wrists. He looked away, shaking his head. Wanting to forget. But Wundt’s face appeared before him as he looked up again, speaking his name. Startled, the redhead stumbled back away from the counter. The back of his legs caught on the side of the tub, and then he was falling. He landed with a loud thud, hitting the back of his head upon the tile.

Khronos heard the noise, and he quickly pardoned himself from Ronald’s presence and hurried back through the curtain and to the bathroom. Upon finding Grell unconscious on the floor, he banished his scythe and knelt before him to take him into his arms.

"I’ve got you, love," he muttered as he picked up the limp redhead. He carried him to his bedroom and he called out to his uninvited guest. "Might as well come back here, Mustard Seed. I may need your assistance."

Ronald came through the curtains and followed the sound of his voice to the bedroom. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he watched the mortician gently lay his mentor down on the bed and cover him up. “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

The Undertaker shook his head. “I’m not sure. Your observation evidently upset him, though. Fetch the damp washcloth from the bathroom and bring it to me.”

Ronald hastened to comply, quickly retrieving the requested item and bringing it to him. Khronos took the cloth from him and he folded it up and brushed Grell’s crimson bangs aside to place it on his forehead. He gently patted his lover’s pallid cheeks, speaking softly to him.

"Come back to us, darlin’. Don’t you mind those nasty memories; you’re safe in ol’ Undertaker’s house, now."

Ronald watched the older reaper working over the reaper that had trained him from a fledgling and he bit his lip, feeling like an interloper. There was definitely something between the eccentric old man and Grell…something special that he’d have never expected Grell to share with another living being. The Undertaker treated him with such tenderness and care. It was an unusual sight to behold. As menacing and creepy as the mortician could be, it was clear that Grell Sutcliff now held a special place in his heart.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked the blond, his voice betraying slight anxiety. He’d never seen Grell so vulnerable before.

The Undertaker kept trying to revive the crimson reaper, a slight frown marring his usually smiling features. “I don’t think he’s been ‘okay’ for some time now, but I intend to rectify that, if I can.” He spoke to Grell again, his voice again returning to that low, gentle drone. “Wake up, lovely. You’re scaring the boy.”

Ronald nearly snorted, fairly certain that ‘the boy’ wasn’t the only one alarmed by his mentor’s condition. He cast a look behind him at the open door. “I’ll go make sure the front door is locked up,” he offered, trusting this odd reaper to take care of his Senpai.

Khronos nodded, keeping his intense gaze on Grell’s face. The redhead stirred and the Undertaker’s lips pulled into a grin of relief as he began to come too. “That’s it,” he urged, “Wake up, my dear.”

Slowly, Grell’s eyelids began to flutter. A painful groan forced its way out as he struggled to put his thoughts in order. Brows furrowing, the redhead whimpered, “Stop… please… let me go.”  
  
Something was warm on his cheek. Familiar. Tender. His brows eased and his lips bowed into a tiny smile. It was Khronos. He was there next to him. ‘Wake up, my dear.’ His voice was soothing. It was beckoning him to wake. Grell turned his head into his lover’s touch. Languidly the veils of his eyes lifted, revealing his lover before him.  
  
“Khronos…” Grell whispered. But before he could utter another word a wave of emotion crashed over the redhead. Tears gushed from his eyes and he turned onto his side, grasping the mortician’s hand, squeezing it as though it was his only anchor to reality. His body shook, racked by sobs.

The reaction made the Undertaker’s heart ache, and he returned the pressure of Grell’s hand and stroked his hair, bending forward to kiss his tears away. “Shh, love. You’re safe now.”

Ronald came back in and he stopped in his tracks at the sight of his mentor’s breakdown. “What did ya do to him?”

Khronos glanced at him with faint irritation. “Nothing, lad. He’s traumatized, is all. Grell, look at me, my dear. Your Khronos is right here. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

Through a screen of tears, Grell looked up at his lover. “He’s never going to let me go. Even if you killed him. He made sure I would never forget.” His voice was low as he spoke and his bottom lip trembled with each syllable.

The Undertaker’s expression darkened. “All the more reason to put an end to him.” The darkness lifted, and he smiled tenderly at him. “And I’ll just have to work harder to give you happier memories, won’t I?”

The mortician lowered his mouth to Grell’s trembling lips and kissed him lingeringly. “The Grell Sutcliff I’ve come to know wouldn’t let him win. You can beat this, and I’ll be right at your side helping you.”

"I’m not as strong as everyone thinks. Not… not after…" Grell’s words trailed off as he sat up and wrapped his arms around the Undertaker’s neck. He buried his face in the crook of the mortician’s neck. "Help me."

Khronos embraced him and held him close. “I will, darlin’. You’re stuck with me.”

Sensing that both of them had forgotten his presence entirely, Ronald left the room to make a phone call to his supervisor. He was supposed to be out on assignment, of course. It wouldn’t do to have William questioning his whereabouts, and he knew exactly where his next collection would be in an hour. A little misdirection wouldn’t hurt anything…though he hated to lie to his boss.

Back in the bedroom, the Undertaker stroked Grell’s hair soothingly and rocked him. Indeed, Grell was all that existed to him at the moment. “You’re all right, love. He won’t touch you again, as long as I live.”

After a moment, Grell sat back nodding. He wiped the tears away and swallowed, taking a deep cleansing breath. “I am sorry to have frightened you. I… I was just trying… trying to wash my face. In the mirror. He was there staring back at me.” Grell looked down at the robe he was fiddling with. “I heard his voice. It… it was clear as day to me. As though he were standing before me.”  
  
Grell raised his head and peered into the mortician’s eyes. He reached out and pressed his palm to Khronos’ cheek, a smile forming on his lips. Gently he traced the line of the mortician’s cheek bone with his thumb.  
  
“He’s going to try and kill you.” The statement fell from Grell’s lips. Dry and unfeeling. Without a trace of emotion. Disembodied.

The Undertaker shrugged. “I suppose so. Better reapers than him have tried before, though.”

He cupped a hand over the one caressing his face, and he turned his head to place a kiss in the palm. His eyes held the redhead’s as he spoke in a low, confident voice. “I rather look forward to the attempt, my dear. It will only make the decision to reap him easier for me, and I have no intention of making it a fast death.”

"You won’t be dealing with just Wundt." Grell replied as he tilted his head along with the mortician’s. "His goons never leave his side. They… they are always there."  
  
He shuddered at the memory of how many times it was their hands on his body. “You don’t know Wundt. Had I met Wundt on the street, before he got a hold of me, I could have bested him. But he cheated. Now I know he…” Ashamed, Grell turned his head and whispered. “He can easily overtake me.”

The mortician rubbed Grell’s arms. “Try not to fret, lovely. I think they’ll find me a tough meal to swallow, if they come after me. Even so, I’ll take your advice to heart and try to be careful.”

He pulled back a bit to kiss him, trying his best to convey both confidence and tenderness in the motions of his lips. He deepened the kiss after a moment, not really trying to initiate something sexual, but to distract him and show him how sincere he was in his desire to protect and comfort him. Grell was his lady now, and he was determined not to fail him the way he’d failed his last love.

Grell melted into the kiss instantly. All thoughts vanishing in the blink of an eye. What was it about this reaper, that could make him think of other pleasures so easily? His arms slipped back around his lover’s neck. His fingers combing through the silver tresses.  
  
But as Grell opened his eyes, he was reminded that they had a visitor. “Ronnie!” He exclaimed pulling back from the mortician. His cheeks turning bright red as he wiped his lips to dry them so he would not drool from the lack of contact.

Ronald hastily busied himself looking at the ceiling and counting the cracks in it. He whistled casually, blushing as deeply as his mentor.  
  
“Oh, hey. I was just coming back in to tell ya I’m going now, and ya might want to lock up after me. I’ve got an assignment I’d better get on top of it before I start raising questions.”

Climbing from the bed, Grell rushed over to the blond. “Ronnie, I… well thank you. Be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Wundt… well he is very bad. Please don’t let your guard down. He…” Grell looked down for a moment, before throwing his arms around the young reaper’s neck.  
  
“Ronnie, he did bad things to me. I don’t want him to hurt you too.” Whispered the redhead as he clung tightly to the blond.

Ronald hugged him awkwardly back, fully aware of the silver-haired reaper nearby. Undertaker didn’t exactly seem like the possessive sort, but he didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “I’ll be okay, Senpai. I just want to help keep that bastard from hurting you again and…and I want to be there to see him go down.” He looked at the mortician. “I want to help make him pay. Just please take care of Sutcliff Senpai, okay?”

The Undertaker inclined his head, his pale bangs falling over his eyes with the motion. “You have my word, chap. They’ll have to get through me to get to him again. That’s a promise.”

Ronald nodded, sniffed a little and stepped back. He forced a smile for Grell’s benefit. “Well, I’d better head off. Stick with the old guy, even if he makes you crazy sometimes. I…I really think he means it when he says he’ll protect you. Maybe you’re the only one alive he really _will_ protect.”

Glancing back at Khronos, Grell swung his and Ronald’s arms, their hands still interlocked. A smile creeping onto his face as he spoke. “He means well. But even Wundt can out smart him. He is dangerous and cunning.”

"I’m starting to get that," mumbled Ronald. He patted Grell on the arm, sighed and stepped back. "Just keep safe. It sounds like he’s got a serious obsession with you and nobody knows I’m even involved."

The blond made a “death” sign with his hands and backed out of the room, grinning cockily as always. “I’ll keep you updated on anything else I find, okay? Just hang tight.”

Not quite getting the slang, the Undertaker looked around. “Hang tight to what?”

Ronald rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I’ll see you later, Senpai.”

He left then, and the mortician got up to see him out and lock the door. “I’ll be right back, my dear,” he assured Grell as he walked out.

 

* * *

 

Grell nodded and slowly sauntered to the bed. He flopped down on his belly. Humming delightfully back to his and the Undertaker’s love making. A rather large grin appeared on his face as his eyes closed. “What delights.” He mumbled.  
  
Grell paused in his reverie. His eyes flying wide open as a strange sound emanated from the other side of the room. His heart stopped beating for just a moment as he sat up. His head turning to the far wall. The curtains were drawn on the window. No shadows passed behind them. But there came the noise again. Curious, the redhead rolled off of the bed and cautiously approached.  
  
Listening carefully, the sound seem to be coming from outside and just below the window. “What a bother. What is that sound? Surely, Khronos does not have rats scurrying to and fro his shop. I wonder… kids perhaps? Trying to mess with the old codger. Yes, kids I bet.” Grell mumbled to himself. The curtain rippled, “Huh? How?”  
  
Quickly, Grell threw back the curtains. “Where’s the glass?!” He exclaimed.

 

* * *

 

After seeing Ronald out and locking up, Undertaker returned to the bedroom. “All right, darlin’, it’s just you and…me.” He stopped with a puzzled frown, looking around. The covers were rumpled and pulled down from where Grell had been moments ago, but the redhead was nowhere to be found. He turned and went back down the hallway, suspecting he went to the bathroom.

"Grell? Love?" He found the bathroom door hanging open, and again there was no Grell. Fighting back a feeling of sudden unease, he retraced his steps. There were only so many places his lover could be in the small living quarters. He checked the kitchen, peeked into the shop, and finally decided to look in the basement. Perhaps Grell had gone down there to look at the bodies he still had waiting for burial. Maybe he wanted to check them for signs of copycat activity.

He wasn’t down there, either. Khronos manifested his death scythe and took the stairs two at a time. His alarms hadn’t gone off, and he could still sense traces of Grell’s presence. He had no logical reason to fear someone had managed to get into his dwelling and stolen his lover away, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Grell, I can take a joke as well as the next fellow," he called out as he revisited areas he’d already searched, "better than most, actually, but I’m not laughing. Come out, my dear. You’re beginning to worry me!"

 

* * *

 

Pain. Nausea. Drowsiness. Groggily, Grell began to stir. ~ _Blackness? Where am I? Why do I hurt?~_ He thought as a cloud of confusion spread throughout his mind. The side of his neck was throbbing and he felt restricted, like he could not move. The lids of his eyes were heavy and he felt like sleeping some more. ~ _Why am I so sleepy? Am I moving? I feel like I am moving? I must be dreaming.~_  
  
A sudden bump had the redhead banging his shoulder against something, Grell’s eyes shot wide. He blinked, frightened. ~ _Confined?~_ He tried to speak, only to discover something was between his lips. ~ _A strap? It tastes like leather? No!~_

Fear gripping him, he began to struggle. He was on his side.

~ _My hands! My Feet! I can’t move! Help!~_

His muffled cries went unheard as the trunk he was locked inside bounced in the boot of the buggy rambling down the country road.

~ _Khronos!~_

 

* * *

 

_~Khronos!_

The Undertaker paused in his now frantic search for his lover, swearing he could hear Grell's voice in his head…though distantly. He cocked his head and forced himself to calm down, mentally reviewing everything he knew of Wundt and what he’d done to Grell. Ronald Knox had mentioned him “messing with his head”. There was no way _any_ uninvited reaper could have gotten within five feet of his property without him knowing about it, much less breaking in. However…

"However, if Wundt has been in his noggin…" he mused, a chill going through him. Hypnosis. That had to be it. Grell would never just up and leave like that…not now. In the beginning, perhaps, but he had come to trust him, and Undertaker was fairly sure he was happy with him—or as happy as someone in his situation could be.

"Nasty bloke must have triggered him, somehow," reasoned the ancient. "I never set up wards to warn me when an invited guest leaves. My darling rose must have left himself, compelled to go to that cretin."

And the last place he’d seen him was in the bedroom. The Undertaker hastened to the spot and searched around for clues. He felt a draft and he tracked it to one of the windows. His boot crunched on a square of glass when he neared it and he looked down with a frown. Kneeling before the curtain, he lifted the glass and he noted that it wasn’t broken, so much as…cut. He got to his feet and yanked the curtain aside to find that someone had cut the glass right out of the pane. He’d have heard it shatter if it had been broken, but this looked to be done by a tradesman.

"Mortal," he guessed. The bastard must have employed a mortal to cut away the glass and give Grell an escape route without alerting him. Wundt must have known he and his goons couldn’t approach themselves, so he had a human do this so that he could lure Grell out, somehow.

At least, that was the theory. Undertaker’s free hand curled into a fist, his nails biting into the pale flesh of his palm until they drew blood. “He can’t be far.”

He could use his aura traces to track Grell down. He considered trying to contact Knox and let him know, but every second was precious. Even a short phone call would cost him moments he could scarce afford.

"I’ll find you, my dear," promised the mortician.

 

* * *

 

Panic welled up inside the redhead’s throat. His wrists and ankles ached. Their bindings cutting into his delicate flesh. He was sure they were bleeding.

~ _Wundt. It has to be Wundt. That sound. It was him. He… My neck. He drugged me… again. Please no! Please, not again! Khronos, I’m scared! Help me! Don’t let him hurt me again!~_

Tears began to fall from Grell’s eyes. Puddling beneath his cheek, on the floor of the trunk. ~ _Where are you taking me?~_  
  
Out of frustration, he tried to kick the side of the trunk once more, but it was no use; he only hurt the bottom of his feet in the process. Giving up, he closed his eyes. His mind wandered to his lover’s face. His heart lurched and his body shook. He was desperately holding onto the only thing he could. The memory of Khronos’ touch.

~ _I love you.~_

 

* * *

 

He tracked the traces out of London, taking the road leading to the countryside. He didn’t bother hitching up his donkey and cart; he would travel more swiftly by foot, without the hassle of animal or carriage maintenance. With supernatural speed he ran, cloaked from mortal sight by his reaper abilities. He stopped for rest a couple of times, taking a moment to munch on biscuits and drink some water. As powerful as his Shinigami body was, he could still get fatigued and he still required nourishment. He never stopped for long, afraid that any delay might cause him to lose the trail.

The sun was beginning to come up when he sensed he was closing in on his target. Khronos increased his pace and his focus, determination lending him speed. He felt like Grell was so close now. If he kept it up, he might soon catch sight of him or his captors.

 

* * *

 

The buggy pulled off the main road heading East. Most of the hours had been spent heading South, as nightfall had covered the mortal realm. Now, dawn threatened to pierce the world in bright hues of yellow and gold. The once blackened skies had melted to soft hues of dark blue and the stars had begun to blink out for the day. Grell had passed out in the trunk, unaware of the direction they were now heading. His legs and arms had grown numb. The trunk had ran out of oxygen hours back, but fortunately he required no oxygen to live or he would have been dead by now. His breathing had ceased and his heart had slowed to the point where it beat only once every ten minutes or so. A mortal would have thought him dead had they chanced up on him in such a state. One time they did and he had ended up in a coffin within his now-lover’s shop.  
  
In his sleeping state, Grell dreamt of nothingness. It was strange and deafening. No sounds, nothing to see. There was a strong sense of fear. And the feeling of being watched. It felt as though he were in the ward again. The only difference was he could see nothing. In the ward there had been light and padded walls, furniture, sometimes. No this was a dream, but he could not wake. He was neither cold or hot. Just there, in the nothingness.

 

* * *

 

They were heading into Dover. Undertaker recognized the landscape and the white cliffs, and he saw a buggy up ahead just heading into the port town. He could sense Grell’s presence inside the carriage, and he also sensed the presence of other reapers. As reckless as he could be, he had the safety of another to think about. He had survived for as long as he had through cunning. He was a trickster; a game player…and he needed to employ those qualities now if he was to free his lover and protect him.

Wundt probably expected him to come after them. He likely had a contingency plan to capture him and either kill him or experiment on him as well. Considering the Undertaker’s reputation as a mad old has-been, Dispatch would undoubtedly believe the “doctor” if he told them that he posed a threat and must be locked away for treatment. There might be repercussions if he managed to kill him and they learned about it, because mad or not, he was an icon to the reaper organization and they would be reluctant to condone his execution. That was no guarantee that once he had him, Wundt wouldn’t find some way to dispose of him and devise some cover story to make it seem he’d escaped and vanished or had to be put down for the safety of others.

Grell didn’t believe that he understood how dangerous Wundt was, and perhaps that was true before, but this situation had forced Undertaker to let go of his pride and admit that even an old codger like himself could be outfoxed. He had a new respect for the diabolic mind he was dealing with, and he couldn’t afford to allow his emotions cloud his judgment. He thought he understood the kind of man Wundt was now, but he wished he knew more about him personally, to help him predict his next move better.

He would have to wing it. He had abilities that most other reapers scarcely dreamed of, and he would probably have to make use of all of them to avoid falling into a trap.

 

* * *

 

"Be careful with the trunk. Mister Wundt would not take kindly if his valuables were bothered or damaged, in the move." Lloyd Garrison instructed the two crewmen of the cargo ship Fleur De Mal.  
  
He was a tall reaper, with sun gold hair. His frame was statuesque. He had the look of a Roman Emperor. There was an air of authority about him, though he had little to none in actuality. Garrison moved below the radar and was best known for slithering around reaper laws and helping himself to whatever he felt he deserved or wanted. He worked closely with those reapers who sought their own means of eternity. Disobeying their positions and fretting amongst the mortals, reeking havoc for the reapers who did choose to follow the ways of their kind. It had only been two days since Wilhelm Wundt had hired him. He had been commissioned to hunt down and capture a rogue reaper. A patient of the distinguished doctor, who had committed murders and escaped. Or so he had been told. He had been quite taken aback when he had read the name on the missive, Grell Sutcliff. The infamous reaper had once again gone rogue and sought refuge with the ancient and legendary reaper…. Well his name had become lost to the reaper world. Most reapers referred to him simply as Undertaker. However that was not the case with Garrison. He knew that ancient name… Khronos. Like the Undertaker, Garrison was from the old world, he knew precisely what the now retired reaper was capable of. At one time he too, Garrison, had served his duty, obeying the laws that governed his kind. But eventually had retired to seek his own way. He had grown weary of harvesting souls, finding more enjoyment for helping those who hated and despised their positions.  
  
Now, as the sun began to climb the late morning sky, he stood on the docks of Dover. His prey ensnared and ready to ship. Wundt had requested the redhead be brought to Germany, via the mortal world. It would be to dangerous to move him through the reaper realm. It had been so simple. He new the old bugger would have the shop covered in sigils and traps. Alarms and anything else he deemed worthy to keep his lover safe. He was fully aware that the two were sexual in nature. The moment Wundt had discovered them together at the redhead’s home he had sent another missive, warning him to tread carefully. The trick was to lure the crimson reaper to the window, that which had been carefully removed by a mortal. Since he—a reaper—could not touch it. Wundt had said that the sound of a dogs whistle would trigger and confuse the redhead. He would imagine many things from scratching to crying when heard; programmed into his brain when he had been under Wundt’s care.  
  
Upon his appearance in the open window, a dart, laced with a sedative had been shot. It pierced the tender flesh of Grell’s neck. The mortal pulled the sleeping reaper from the Undertaker’s shop, bound and gagged him before placing him in the trunk—where he now lay fast asleep and loaded onto the mortal ship, destined to cross the sea and into Germany.  
  
“I said carefully! Do not jar the trunk!” He shouted following the crewmen as they made their way slowly to the cabin where Garrison would spend the day and half watching over the valuable cargo. A wicked grin on his face as he thought of the payment he would be receiving for such a treasure.

 

* * *

 

The Undertaker watched them handling the “cargo” from a distance, hidden and cloaked. Power radiated from the tall blond one, and he seemed vaguely familiar to him. Wundt was nowhere to be seen, but a second, younger reaper with dark hair and a ponytail waited silently with the blond one. Ordinarily, two reapers wouldn’t have proven much of a challenge for the Undertaker—after all, he’d fought off a handful of them when they attempted to take his scythe from him back in the day. The blond one made him wary, however. He was old…possibly nearly as old as Khronos himself. He couldn’t quite place him from such a distance, with no eye-wear to correct his blurry vision, but there was a definite sense of familiarity to him…and that made him dangerous.

"Of course that weasel of a man wouldn’t have bothered collecting Grell himself," he whispered as he watched them carry the crate with his love onto the ship. "Why go through the effort, when he could employ others to do it for him?"

He thought of sneaking aboard the ship immediately, but sending for aid once they were out to sea would be difficult, at best. Trusting he had time to gather information and send word to the only reaper he knew he could trust to help his lover, the mortician slunk away and straightened his top-hat. Perhaps he could even stall the journey for a bit. He made sure he was out of range and out of sight of Grell’s captives before summoning his small bag of tricks and committing a perfect forgery. Satisfied that it would do for his purposes, he went to the Wharf master to get his information.

“‘Morning, chap,” greeted the Undertaker with a toothy smile as he stepped into the small building and approached the desk. The portly man sitting behind it looked understandably wary as the tall, unusual looking funeral director approached him. “I run the south London mortuary. I need to inquire about one of the ships in your harbor.”

The Wharf master eyed him as if he were a snake about to strike. “To what end, sir?”

Undertaker leaned casually on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, seems there’s been a bit of a mix-up with a body I was commissioned to autopsy and my luggage. You see, I have another shop in Belgium where my apprentice is working, and I packed some goods up to send to him. Silly me, though; I ran out of coffins and I had to improvise with one of my trunks for my latest client, until I could finish a proper one for him. The movers came to collect my goods and they went and took the wrong chest!”

The reaper spread his hands and painted the look of a confused and worried tradesman on his face. “I know it’s an inconvenience, but I’m sure it would cause quite a stir if port authorities happen to inspect this chest and find a cadaver. I rushed here as soon as I opened the chest I thought had my client in it, only to find apothecary supplies and tools. I could swear I saw some fellows out there loading my chest onto a ship called ‘Fleur De Mal’.”

The human looked faintly horrified. “‘Fleur De Mal’ is due to arrive in Bremen. Are you _certain_ it was your chest you saw being loaded onto it, and not simply another with a similar appearance?”

"Almost positive," assured the Undertaker with a nod. "Big black trunk with silver trimming, about yay high and yay long." He demonstrated the dimensions with his arms. "My old eyes aren’t what they used to be, but it certainly _looked_ like my trunk.” He wrung his hands, seeming distressed. “Oh dear, Bremen…that’s in Germany, isn’t it?”

The Wharf master nodded. “A far cry from Belgium, I’d say.”

"Indeed," agreed the reaper. He sighed. "Well, whether it’s being loaded onto that ship or not, somewhere on these docks there is a dead body about to be illegally transported. Imagine the questions that will arise! Not good for business, I’m afraid…for me _or_ for you, chap.”

The Wharf master paled. “Do you have any documentation listing your goods and their destination? I need some proof, before I call for a cargo inspection.”

"Oh, absolutely," assured Khronos. He dug out the envelope with the forged documentation he’d created, and he handed it over. "See for yourself, good fellow."

The human took the envelope and opened it up to read over the paperwork carefully. Khronos waited in silence, confident that he’d filled it out to perfection. After a moment, the Wharf master nodded and sighed, replacing the document in the envelope to hand it back over. “What a nightmare. Just wait here if you please, and I’ll have my people look into it. If the…cargo is found, they will bring it here to my office.”

The Undertaker smiled and pressed his hands together in a gesture of gratitude, his long black nails tapping against one another. “Ta. Oh, and I would prefer you have the trunk sent quietly back to my mortuary, rather than wait here for it. In fact…” He replaced the envelope and dug through his robes for a money pouch, which he offered to the man. “Don’t even mention seeing or speaking with me. Take this for your trouble. That should be more than enough, and if anyone asks, tell them you got word of some stolen goods being transported in a trunk matching that description. I have a reputation to protect, you know, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want it to be known that you nearly allowed a body to be illegally shipped overseas.”

The man opened the money pouch, and his eyes widened a bit. Of course, any intention of blackmail was blown away by the fact that he would be called into question too, and his career jeopardized as a result. “This is very generous compensation. I’ll see to it that it’s done as discreetly as possible, should we find the missing…cargo.”

Undertaker resisted a giggle at the man’s obvious reluctance to just say “body”. He bowed to him, hardly minding the loss of coin and currency. He only accepted money for his services to take care of basic needs, supplies and maintenance. The rest he squirreled away and either donated to charity—a thing he’d rather not be made known public—or spoiled himself on occasion when it built up. Entertainment would always be his primary method of payment.

"Thank you, good sir." He tipped his hat to him. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to my shop. You can find me in the book when you have anything to report. Toodles!"

He left then, and as soon as he was outside he found a building to go behind so that he could cloak himself once more. “That ought to put a kink in their plans,” he said with a mischievous grin. It might not stop them given how sneaky Wundt had proven to be, but it would certainly delay their departure and buy him more time.

Now he just needed to find a raven to deliver word to the one ally he knew he had in this.

 

* * *

 

"What in Hell are you blabbing about? I have no such trunk in my possession! I picked up nothing from a coffin shop." Lloyd looked confused and inconvenienced at the harbormaster. "Look, you are delaying our departure. What will it take to make you go away and this ship on its way?"

"Please stand back and allow us to inspect your baggage, sir," said the harbormaster with as much calm as he could muster. It couldn’t have been easy for him, given the intimidating presence of the man he was delaying. "There has been a disturbing report that we must investigate. I believe there may have been a mix-up and I can’t allow this ship to leave these docks until the matter is resolved. I apologize for the inconvenience, but your cooperation will expedite the departure of your vessel. Resist and you’ll only be putting yourself further off schedule."

 

* * *

 

While the harbormaster argued with Grell’s captor, his lover was off in the wooded area speaking to a raven he’d summoned down from the trees. The Undertaker stroked the bird’s beak and spoke in a low voice to it, using the language of the death gods. Ravens were symbolic of death, and they were one of the few mortal animals that could traverse both the mortal plane and the Shinigami one.

"Carry this message to Mr. Ronald Knox, my feathered friend. Be sure he gets all of it, and find me when you’ve finished to give me his answer."

He whispered the message to the raven, and he lifted his arm to prompt its flight. “Now go.”

The raven called out in response and took off, its wings flapping busily. Khronos watched it for a moment, before turning back to the docks. He just hoped that Knox would have the sense to follow his directions and resist acting on impulse. This was one time where cooler heads could definitely prevail.

 

* * *

 

Lloyd ran his hand through his hair. Sighing in defeat he replied calmly. “Fine. Follow me. I will take you to my cabin first. But I ask that you be quiet. My wife is asleep. She is with child and has been very sick. I don’t want her upset with men rummaging through our cabin. With luck, she will remain asleep.”  
  
Garrison the cunning fox that he was, was well prepared for such a set back. Though he feigned being upset. A rueful smile adorned his lips as he led the way to the cabin reserved for him. He knew the old codger would try and stop the ship from sailing or just delay it, but by the time his reinforcements showed, the ship would be on its way.  
  
Just outside the cabin door, Garrison once more cautioned the harbormaster. “Remember, quietly. Look as much as you like I only have one trunk, you will discover and it is full of our clothes. No corpses.”  
  
Grell’s ears perked as he heard the door creak open. He listened intensely as the sound of male voices entered the tiny room. No longer stuffed in the trunk, he had been placed upon the bed. His hands and legs were still bound. He was now anchored in the double wide bed. Forced to face the wall with a gag in his mouth, the covers were pulled up to his chin. He had been re-drugged as he was placed in his new prison—a guarantee that if any should venture to the room, he would be to groggy to move or make a sound. But the sedative had yet to fully take effect. He was fighting it with all his might. His hearing was still very much awake, while his eyes were sealed shut and the rest of his body already asleep. He longed to make a sound or a movement. Anything to get the attention of the other man, who was… searching the room? A tiny tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.

The harbormaster looked at the figure lying covered up in the bed, unable to see more than a head of long, unusually red hair. There was a slight twitch and a muffled sound, but aside from that the woman didn’t stir. He went to the trunk as quietly as he could, and he opened it. Just as Mr. Garrison said, it was full of clothing. He rummaged through it a bit and found nothing out of the ordinary.

Feeling foolish for listening to that odd old funeral director, he shut the trunk and approached the passenger and his dark-haired companions. “Thank you very much for your cooperation. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. I’ll let the captain know he’s free to leave port at any time.”

"Thank you. We would appreciate that." Lloyd took the man’s proffered hand, shaking it. A warm smile upon his face as the two men started to climb the stairs back up to the main deck.  
  
In the bed the sedative taking over the redhead, drawing him into unconsciousness as he listened to the two men exiting the cabin. The visitor having not bothered the supposed sleeping passenger. Inside his heart was sinking, his hope flying through the tiny port hole just above his red head.

 

* * *

 

"Mustard."

Ronald looked around with a puzzled expression on his face, and he glanced at the raven that had landed and perched itself on the windowsill of his flat. The bird peered back at him with beady black eyes, tilting its head. The party-loving young reaper grimaced at the animal, shaking his head.

"Must be hearing things." Stress could do that; make someone imagine things like strange birds asking for mustard at strange hours of the day…couldn’t it? He was overworked, after all.

"Mustard…seed!"

He’d just been about to pull his head back in and get ready for another shift when he heard the animal squawk that. Ronald paused and poked his head out the window, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. William had been known to use pigeons to relay messages before, but he never would have used a raven.

"I just know I’m gonna regret asking this; but did ya just talk to me?"

The bird looked at him with cunning and intelligence that was quite unusual for its kind—even in the Shinigami realm. “Listen carefully,” it said. “Your mentor has been kidnapped, and I’m the only one that knows about it. Sorry to say this old reaper might need a hand, and you’re the only bloke I think I can trust in Dispatch to give it to me. Come to this ship, if you can.”

The raven parted with the information concerning the ship and its destination. “Don’t involve Dispatch,” it reminded once finished. “You know yourself they can’t be trusted until the good doctor is exposed.”

Ronald stared at the raven, his mouth still agape at the flawless recital. “B-but then who should I—” sputtered the blond, and the raven interrupted him.

"You’re probably asking questions by now, but that won’t do you a bit of good. You see, this is simply a relay of messages between us. The only thing this creature will understand and convey from you is a simple answer. Will you come or not?"

There was really only one right answer for Ronald, confused though he was. “Well, yeah! I’m not gonna let my Senpai get…hey, where are you going?”

He called out to the raven in protest as it flapped away from his window, but then it occurred to him that it was carrying his answer to the Undertaker. The blond sighed and combed his fingers through his hair.

"If the Undertaker needs help, it must be pretty bad," he reasoned. He looked up at the sky. "I may not be enough. Man, why’d this have to get so complicated?"

There was one option he could try; one that might actually take Grell’s kidnappers by surprise. Reapers did not team up with demons as a rule, but he could think of at least _one_ of the latter he might be able to employ in this.

"I’m never going to get a promotion," grumbled Ronald, even as he began to concentrate on opening a portal to the location of the Phantomhive estate.

 

* * *

 

A tall, dark, slender silhouette stood glaring down at the reaper, who stood before the great doors of the Phantomhive Estate. With a dash of annoyance and curiosity, Sebastian’s brow rose and he inquired: “Mister Knox, whatever do we owe to this unexpected visit? Are you lost? If you are searching for Mister Sutcliff, I am happy to say he is not here… nor has he been here in sometime. I suggest you inquire as to his whereabouts someplace else.”

Ronald shook his head. “No, I’m not here about Sutcliff Senpai. Well, I am, but it’s not what you think. I need to speak with you and the kid. It involves the Undertaker.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow twitched at the mention of the Undertaker.“ And you believe this interests my master? I am afraid neither one of us could care less as to what happens to the mortician. He has caused nothing but headaches for my young lord.”

"Yeah, join the party," grunted Ronald, scratching his head. "But I don’t believe the kid doesn’t care about the old fart. He might be a trouble maker, but he’s done business with the family for generations, right? He’s never hurt the kid either, even though he could have. Okay, he skewered _you_ , but that was because ya plan on eating Ciel’s soul. I don’t think he likes that too much. As a matter of fact, I’d swear the Undertaker is protective of the Earl, in his own messed up way. He’s kind of like the funny uncle, right? And like I said; he’s been just as helpful to you and your master as he’s been a hassle. Let me talk to the kid, at least. If the Undertaker goes down, he’s going to lose one of his best informants and that means you’ll be on the hunt for his revenge for longer…which means you’ll have to wait longer to chow down on him.” 

"I can assure you Mister Knox, it matters not if the Undertaker is around. I will consume the young master’s soul sooner or later. We do not depend upon the, ‘old fart’ as you put it. He is irrelevant in this case. He serves only the purpose of helping us with minor crime solving. If he were to be removed from the equation, we would still be able to continue. Now, I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here. Without a more substantial reason… I must bid you good day." The crow tilted his head in farewell, eyes shut as he began to close the door on the blond reaper.

Not one to give up so easily, Ronald wedged his foot in the door to prevent it from closing. “Not so fast, Jeeves. I’m not going anywhere ‘till I get to talk to your master myself. I don’t think he’d appreciate finding out you spoke for him without consulting him, if I had to guess.”

"When it comes to the Mad Hatter, he could care less. He has no desire to help the traitor. Now, do be a good fellow and leave before I am forced to make you leave." Sebastian snarled as he once more tried to force the door shut on the reaper, without violence becoming an issue. Though his patience was growing thin. There were greater matters at stake and neither he or his young lord had time for reaper games.

"Not…gonna…happen," grunted Ronald stubbornly, refusing to let him close the door. The wood creaked and it began to crack from the force of two opposing supernaturals pitting their strength against each other on it.

"Sebastian, what are you doing?"

Ronald sighed with relief at the sound of the young Earl’s voice, and he called out to him before his pet demon could respond. “Your butler’s trying to keep stuff from ya. Who wears the pants in your relationship; you or him?”

Ciel approached to peek out from behind Sebastian’s lean form, frowning up at the blond. “Your inappropriate reference aside, I am the master here. Tell me what this is about and be quick with it. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon.”

Ronald let go of the door and he smirked at the scowl on Sebastian’s handsome face. “I was telling your carrion bird here that your funny uncle could be in for some trouble. Like it or not, the Undertaker has saved your ass more than once before, and—”

"The Undertaker placed me directly in danger on more than one occasion, too," interrupted Ciel coldly. "His usefulness has started to wane, of late."

Ronald grimaced. “Maybe so, but trust me when I say he could be the only thing standing between you and a fate worse than death, some day.” He glanced pointedly at the butler.

Ciel shrugged, looking up at his servant. “I made a bargain, and I’m prepared to honor my part of it and relinquish my soul to Sebastian, when the terms have been met. It isn’t the Undertaker’s place to ‘save me’, if he’s even interested in doing so. I’m curious, however. What sort of trouble could the old lunatic possibly get into that would require our intervention?”

"The kind involving a sadistic reaper doctor and his goons," explained Ronald. "The cagey bastard’s people kidnapped Sutcliff Senpai and the Undertaker is going after them. I don’t think he’s thinking very clearly and Wundt is like a genius or something."

"Since when does the Undertaker ever think clearly?" Ciel shared a smirk with Sebastian. "At any rate, what does this have to do with us? If he gets himself caught trying to rescue that red pervert, it’s no affair of mine."

"You’ll lose one of your best informants," reminded Ronald, "and from what I hear, Undertaker was pretty tight with your parents. Look, I’m not asking you to put yourself out too much. I don’t expect you to give a toss what happens to Grell, but I think you’ll regret it if something happens to the Undertaker that you could have helped stop. He could have answers you’ve been looking for…ever think of that?"

"Yet he’s chosen not to share any of those answers with me." Ciel lowered his gaze in thought. "But then, getting answers of any sort from that man is like fitting together the pieces of a puzzle."

He sighed, and he looked up at the blond. “If I send my butler with you, there will be conditions.”

"Totally expected that," agreed Ronald with a nod.

Ciel looked at his demon companion. “Sebastian, go with the reaper and assess the situation. Inform the Undertaker that if he wants your assistance, he must agree not only to resume his duties as my informant free of cost, but never to raise his hand against us again. If he finds those terms not to his liking, you are free to leave him and his associates to deal with their problem on their own.”

"Is this an order, my lord?" The crow looked down upon his young charge and inquired. For this, he wanted an order. He would not set one foot in the direction of the casket creeper, if the command was not an official one. He was wary of dealing with the Undertaker’s antics and longed to distance the reaper from his meal.

Ciel nodded and lifted his eye patch to reveal the demon brand. “Yes, this is an order.” The brand lit up and Ronald smirked at the subtle expression of frustration on the demon’s face.

"Well, we’d best get moving," said the reaper. "The ship’s probably already going out to sea and I don’t know how long the old fossil’s going to wait for help to come."

Sebastian turned to his master. Covering his heart with his right hand, the butler closed his eyes and bowed. “Yes, my lord,” he acquiesced.  
  
As he stood up, Sebastian straightened his coat and adjusted his gloves. With a look of disdain he spoke to the blond. “I will come as my master has ordered. You will fill me in on what has occurred as we go. And I warn you, reaper; do not get in my way. I will do what I must, so long as the Undertaker agrees to his part. Is that clear?”

"Crystal," sighed Ronald. Why did _he_ always end up being the errand boy? Concern for his elder was the only thing keeping him from throwing his hands up and telling the Undertaker to take care of his own problems. He summoned a portal and he waited for his demon companion to step through, before following himself.

 

* * *

 

As Ronald had attuned himself to the Undertaker’s location, they arrived in the cargo hold of the ship carrying Grell and his captors. He gave a yelp when he stepped out of the portal and found himself staring down the length of a curved scythe blade. He could see the greenish-gold gleam of its owner’s eyes beneath the white fringe of bangs partially masking them, and he had time to notice that the Undertaker had put aside his hat and robes for the occasion. He was now wearing only the inner layer of his garments, composed of the long black shirt, tight pants and buckle-laden thigh-high boots.

He could see why his mentor was so enamored with the old reaper, even if he wasn’t Ron’s type. “Whoa, hold it,” protested the blond. “It’s just me! I brought—”

"Ah, Mr. Michaelis," interrupted the mortician with a broad grin. He withdrew his scythe and grabbed one of Sebastian’s gloved hands, shaking it in welcome. "It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? How fairs the little lord?"

"The young Master fairs quite well, thank you. He has ordered me to assist you any way that I can so long as you agree and abide by a few simple terms." Sebastian smiled as he bowed his head to the ancient reaper. "However, I am not sure you will take to them as you are a fickle being. Though if you refuse, I can not assist you in saving your…."  
  
Sebastian smiled wickedly as he looked upon the ancient reaper. “I am not sure as to what the nature of your relationship is with Mister Sutcliff. I assume it is of a romantic nature?”  
  
The Undertaker barely blinked. “You’d assume right, butler. The title you’re looking for is my lady love. Not that it matters, really. Name your terms, and let the fun begin!”

"Oh boy," grumbled Ronald. He loved to party as much as the next guy, but with the Undertaker? At least he could halfway predict Grell.

Wasting no more time, Sebastian spoke. Laying down the stipulations of the agreement. “For my cooperation you must abide by the terms my young master as set forth. One, you are to resume your duties as informant to the Phantomhives. Two, you will do this free of charge. No more payments. You will help as needed and provide us with all information, pertaining to any case we seek your assistance. And lastly, you are not to harm any member of the Phantomhive estate. This includes all servants and members of the Phantomhive family. This means that if at anytime you see my young master in harms way… you will assist in protecting him and all member of his household.”  
  
The demon eyed the ancient as he adjusted his gloves. “Are we in agreement?”

The Undertaker sighed. “Well, that’s downright boring…but in the interest of getting my rose back…”

He grinned and nodded. “I agree to those terms, Mr. Michaelis.” He rubbed his pale hands together eagerly. “Shall we begin, then?”

"By all means, What precisely did you have in mind? And may I inquire, rose?" Sebastian chuckled, "Do not tell me that is the pet name you have given Mister Sutcliff?"

"That’s what my dear Grell reminds me of," answered the silver reaper with a shrug. "A delicate flower, but one with thorns that can sting. I can wax poetic later, once I have him safely liberated from his captors. I should warn both of you now that we’re dealing with an older reaper; not your run of the mill sort. I could sense his aura of power and he isn’t likely to be a pushover. He has at least one ally with him. If they reach their destination, odds are that ‘doctor’ will get his hands on him again and what he intends for him doesn’t bear thought."

Ronald’s nose crinkled. “You don’t think you could have taken on these guys by yourself?” As a former recipient of the Undertaker’s prowess in combat, he found it difficult to imagine the man needing help.

"I’m not willing to take the chance," explained the Undertaker. "Not with Grell’s safety at stake." He grinned and spread his hands. "See how I’ve grown?"

"The ‘doctor’? Who is he, if I might ask?" Sebastian asked curiously. Unaware of a doctor and who he could possibly be. "And the reaper you sense? An ancient, like yourself?"  
  
Sebastian began to wonder just what he had agreed to. Here he was on a boat, in the English channel, with two reapers. A supposed third imprisoned and two more he knew nothing about. He could have just walked into his own trap, unbeknownst.  
  
“One more question, if I may? Am I the intended prey? You have not set me up to ensnare me, have you?”

"My, that’s a slew of questions, Mr. Michaelis. To answer the first one, the doctor’s name is Wundt, and the last time he had Grell in custody he did things to him that I can’t discuss with you. As for the reaper in charge of this kidnapping, I doubt he’s as old as yours truly, but he probably comes close. I didn’t recognize him myself, but then I was standing several yards away and I practically have to be standing on top of someone to make out the fine details of their facial features."

Undertaker scratched his chin and grinned. “And on the subject of whether this is all an elaborate scheme to separate you from your ward and rid him of you…why, I would have already found a way to do that by now, if that was my intention. Aren’t you the paranoid little fiend?” He chuckled, but then he sobered and tilted his head, his bangs falling aside to reveal his vivid eyes. “You are here because Mr. Knox had the good sense to come and seek your aid. I didn’t even ask him to; your appearance on this ship was an unexpected surprise to me. The more the merrier, though. With the three of us working together, I doubt Grell will be in the clutches of his abductors for very long.”

"And what are ya gonna do once we free him?" Ronald asked. "Obviously your place isn’t as secure as ya thought, if they could get to him there."

"True," sighed the mortician. He dragged his nails through his hair and frowned. "I believe they used hypnosis to lure him out; which means that he isn’t safe anywhere in London. If I’m to keep him safe from this quack, I’m going to have to take Grell somewhere far away. I’ll tie him to me to keep this from happening again if I have to, but until Wundt is dealt with, I’m afraid we’re going to have to vanish for a while. Nobody can know where we go, Knox—not even you."

The younger reaper stared at him as if he thought he was joking, and then he swore in anger and kicked the side of a crate. “That’s it…when you’re ready to go after Wundt, I want ya to take me with you. That bastard is gonna pay for what he’s done!”

The Undertaker nodded. “Indeed, my dear…indeed. We’ll have our fun with him later. Right now, let’s just worry about freeing your Senpai and taking care of the nasties that abducted him, shall we?”

Ronald sighed and nodded, reigning in his temper with difficulty. “Okay, let’s talk plans.”

 

* * *

 

-To be continued 


	8. Chapter 8

_~So you dare to bring other reapers and a demon to come after me and my cargo, old friend. We shall see about this. I bested you once, Khronos. I will do it again.~_

Garrison watched hidden in the bow of the ship along with the ancient, the junior and the demon. He had sensed the old fool the moment he materialized on the ship. Seeking him out, he had discovered the retired reaper huddled in the cargo bay. Now, cloaked by an ancient Shinigami spell, he stood watching and listening to the conversation between the three misfits. A wide grin carved across his mouth. His eyes glowing from his hiding spot, like a wolf on the hunt. Yes, this time he would kill the ancient, rather than show mercy and allow him to live.

"I am afraid I haven’t the slightest clue as to what is going on and why you need my help in freeing Sutcliff. And do you or do you not have a plan for doing so?" Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes on the silver-haired reaper. "Also, you did not answer my prior inquiry. Is the reaper you sensed an ancient? He could be more problematic, if he is."

"Clean the wax out of your ears, chap," answered the Undertaker, "I just told you he’s old, but I didn’t walk right up and ask him his exact age. There aren’t many ancients left, you understand, so the odds of Wundt employing one of them are about six feet under."

"Well how many ancients are left?" Ronald inquired, looking around to get his bearings. "I mean, there had to be a few besides yourself, right? Maybe there’s more left than you thought."

The mortician shook his head. “It’s all on record, my boy. They’ve kept up with all the originals since the beginning, marking names off as they perished. I was the first, and then there was Lawrence Anderson from the Glasses Division—”

"Pops?" interrupted Ronald, surprised. "Pops is an ancient?"

Undertaker smirked. “Was there really any doubt? When he retired from the business of reaping, he chose to be transferred and he’s been there ever since. Now, where was I? There were two more left the last time I checked, besides yours truly and Mr. Anderson. One was Moira and the other…hmm, the other…”

The mortician traced the scar around his throat, then the one slashing over his face. “He gave me these scars, but I’ve quite forgotten the clotpole’s name. Isn’t that funny?”

Ronald was about to comment, but he went still and frowned, staring up into the shadows. The Undertaker turned to follow his gaze, squinting. “What’s the trouble, Knox?”

The blond blinked and shook his head. “Thought I saw something up there. I guess it was just a rat.”

The Undertaker moved in front of him, holding his death scythe ready as he reached out with his senses. “Keep your wits sharp,” he cautioned his companions. “I caused a bit of trouble for the kidnappers at the docks and delayed the ship. Chances are whoever they are, they’ve got a description of me and I can’t promise nobody spotted me, during the brief time I was uncloaked at the harbor. Wouldn’t surprise me if the two of them are taking patrols through the ship to be sure I’m not sneaking about.”

"Pardon me, but aren’t ancients able to do things modern reapers are not capable of?" Sebastian asked. "Being that you are purest in form and the originals. Not created from the dead as modern reapers are. As well as pure-bloods, despite sharing your blood line. Which if my hunch is correct, we might be spied on as we stand around talking. We need to find Sutcliff and get off this boat. I may be as old as you reapers, but ancients are not ones I care to dance with. I know how you came about and…" Sebastian smirked, "Let us just say; I would rather kiss Mister Knox here, than to go up against said reapers."

"Please don’t," begged Ronald with a smirk.

"Some of us have learned a few extra tricks over the years," confirmed the Undertaker, "and we do have some innate abilities that skipped the later generations."

He curled his fingers and inspected his long, black nails. “Some of us have specific features that set us apart from other reapers, like my nails. I’m not sure why, but I was the only one created with black ones like these. As I said before, I don’t know for certain that the reaper I suspect is in charge is an ancient or simply very old. I’m in complete agreement with you though; we need to find Grell and exit stage left. His safety matters more than my desire to avenge what they did to him.”

"Then let’s get moving," prompted Ronald. "What the hell are we waiting for?"

Undertaker nodded. “Right. Mr. Michaelis, I know you have ways of cloaking yourself from detection. I’d suggest you do it like Ronald and I before we head up.”

Smiling wickedly, the demon began to dematerialize into a shadow. His voice a whisper like the wind. “Gentlemen, one would assume Mister Sutcliff is being kept somewhere safe. We shall meet in the kitchen in one hour’s time, with or without him. That is if we become separated in our search, but let us try and stick together. It is far to dangerous to separate. However I can move faster this way. Should I go on ahead of you?”

"Might be useful," agreed the Undertaker with a nod. He turned to Ronald. "You stay close to me, Mustard Seed. I don’t fancy the reception I’ll get from Grell if something happens to you that I might have prevented. I’ve already searched through the cargo hold, so we should start with the residential areas and work our way up."

"Sounds good to me." Ronald shrugged and cloaked himself, and the Undertaker followed suit. Sebastian was already up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

 

* * *

 

Fading into a mist, like a fog wafting through the bows of the cargo ship, Garrison vanished and drifted about the small clipper. He rematerialized in his cabin once he arrived within the safety of its walls. Slowly, he withdrew the blankets covering the redhead. His eyes skimmed the curve of Grell’s body as he lay still bound and gagged.

"I know you are awake, young one. You have friends looking for you." He gently ran his fingers along Grell’s side where it dipped from his position. "But they will not find you. Grell Sutcliff is going to disappear. That old badger will not be able to sense you, nor the demon of old. And if you do not cooperate, I will make ‘the green one’ bleed his records before you."

Grell shivered from the man’s touch. It was similar to Wundt’s. He squeezed his eyes tightly, until he heard the man threaten to kill one of them. One of the three who came to rescue him. He turned his head. His eyes met those of the reaper, looming over him. They enlarged.

_~No.~_

 

* * *

 

Undertaker crept through the ship with Ronald close by, checking one room after the other. He couldn’t be sure what sort of accommodations Grell’s kidnappers would have chosen, so they had to search all of them and leave no room unexplored. He wouldn’t have picked the boy out as someone that got easily flustered with his outgoing personality, but Ronnie’s face was cherry bright after they intruded on the two fellows enjoying a romp together in cabin C-8. To his credit, the younger reaper held his tongue and didn’t blurt any shocked exclamations to give them away. Undertaker might have snickered at him, if he weren’t so worried about Grell.

There didn’t appear to be other passengers on the ship so far, though there were twenty cabins available for boarding. As they reached the halfway mark of the accommodation deck, the Undertaker noticed an increasingly bothered look on Ronald’s face. He paused in an empty room and faced the young man, feeling safe to whisper an inquiry to him without alerting any mortals to their presence.

"What’s the trouble, chap? You’re looking a bit green. You aren’t getting seasick on me, are you?"

Ronald shook his head. “No way. It’s just…walking in on those people made me think something that I wish I could unthink.”

"And what’s that?"

Ronald looked at him with a dreading expression. “What if one of those guys that kidnapped Senpai is doing something like that to him?”

The Undertaker’s expression darkened. “If they are, then their cocks are forfeit just like their lives. Worry about finding him for now, and we’ll deal with the rest afterwards.”

Ronald shivered. “I sure hope Sebastian is having better luck than we are.”

 

* * *

 

A formless shadow lurked behind the two reapers, unsuspected. Had he been a form he would have grinned, instead he waited for the right moment to strike. The blond on his left. The ancient on his right. They were talking about reaper lore. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. Still searching for the redhead without any clue as to his whereabouts. The ancient was agitated. It permeated from his aura. The young one was nervous. He smelled of sweat. Perspiring more than usual. Most likely anxious and desperate to find his mentor.

Yes, his mentor. Hard to believe that Grell Sutcliff could be anyone’s mentor. He was reckless and fickle. The reaper had made a name for himself, but it was not the kind of name one should be proud of. One could assume he had shamed his brethren. After all, reapers were not to commit murders, but collect the souls of the victims of murder, along with any other mortal death.

The redhead disregarded his position and played with a mortal, causing chaos amongst the mortal realm. A case closed some years prior. Still he was unhinged. At anytime, it was possible he could slip back into his previous habits of blood and lust. Yet for some odd reason, the ancient had taken a liking to this murdering, ‘ _Death God’_. Grell was dear to him.

 _~How odd these immortal beings are.~_ Pondered the demon butler as he watched the two reapers before him open and close a door. That only lead to a storage closet.

_~Should I reveal myself yet? The ancient does not seem to have noticed I am standing behind him. Though it is more tempting to repay him for the times I have had to humiliate myself to gain information from him. Perhaps a little sport might be enjoyable. However, he is quite distraught at the loss of his lover and though Grell is unhinged, Undertaker is equally as such. Another time, then~_

The smell of sulfur began to waft through the tight corridor. Black feathers appearing to rain down from nowhere. Glowing orbs of fire levitated behind the reapers.

"I know where he was kept." A deep voice said. Sebastian’s normal British tone yet to return.

Undertaker turned to the butler. “Where he ‘was’ kept?” inquired the mortician.

They were being watched. He kept his senses alert, but he didn’t say anything to his companions just yet. He hadn’t pinpointed the source yet and it might drive the eavesdropper off if he said anything aloud. Showing any sign that he was aware of the presence might spoil his chance to hone in on it, and he was confident that it knew exactly where Grell was.

"As in he’s not there anymore?" Ronald asked, his brow crinkling. He went a little pale as it occurred to him that Sebastian might not just be referring to Grell not physically being there anymore. "Don’t tell me he’s dead…"

Turning to the blond, Sebastian inclined his head. “Yes. He is no longer there. As for him passing. I cannot say. He is just simply not in the cabin. His aura was warm, so I believe he was only recently removed. Perhaps another location on the ship. Though there was another trace of an aura in the room. An odd aura. It was ancient. I had not sensed it on the ship before.”

Sebastian turned his attention to the Undertaker. “One can assume the reaper you said you might have acquaintance with, is indeed like yourself. He is cloaking himself from us and therefore is going to make tracking him down even harder, but I do not believe he has left the ship. Which means Sutcliff has to still be here as well.”

The mortician nodded, feeling a small measure of relief. Sebastian’s assessment that the aura was ancient and new to him made the Undertaker ponder the nature of his opponent. He’d seen two reapers getting ready to board the ship, but the second one seemed to have left the ship or perhaps he didn’t get on with the taller fellow at all. If that were true, they only faced one opponent…but that didn’t necessarily mean their task would be any easier. This fellow—whoever he was—had managed to mask himself from them almost completely. Undertaker himself could do the same trick when he needed to hide his presence from Dispatch, but average reapers could not pull it off. That meant they likely were facing an ancient…one of the first generation of reapers, created from nothingness rather than resurrected from death.

"Stay on your toes," he advised his companions as he mentally reviewed the remaining ancients that he knew about. He could only think of one that might have it in for him. He counted Anderson amongst his few friends, and the other one probably didn’t care enough about him to bother. He couldn’t imagine them having anything to do with Wundt either, so that left the fellow that disfigured him so long ago…one of the only reapers to walk away from the fight when they’d come to take his scythe from him.

 

* * *

 

"My love, isn’t it a lovely evening? Look at the stars. They are so beautiful," said a beautiful blonde woman, with soft curls framing her face and skin like porcelain.

She stood at the ships edge, looking out over the English channel. Her husband standing next to her. She wore an evening dress made of the finest silks in the shade of palest blue. Her hair was braided and wrapped atop her head. White lace gloves fitted snugly on her hands as she held tight to the ships railing. She was beaming, captivated by the delights of the night sky.

"They sparkle so brilliantly. Like a field of diamonds. Don’t you agree?" She asked, her face illuminated by the starlight.

"Yes, my precious. A sky full of diamonds for my bride. If only I could pluck them from the Heavens to adorn your lovely neck." He replied, his arm around her waist and his hand coming to rest upon her hip.

 

* * *

 

The trio, having decided not to split apart again, searched each of the crewmen quarters to no avail. Every stock room and broom closet. The kitchen. Even the cargo bay once more. Grell’s aura had faded and the scent was growing cold. Sebastian could sense the unease rolling off the ancient reaper. He was sure though that Grell had to still be aboard the ship. No life boats had been cast and if a reaper had portaled off the ship, there would have been traces. No, Grell was still aboard.

There were a few passengers scattered about the ship as was custom for some cargo ships to allow passengers to travel aboard. The accommodations, however, were lacking and not designed for comfort. Only the brave or desperate used cargo ships for transportation. And as in the case of Grell’s abductors, this was the perfect way to cross the channel and into Germany.

Sebastian began to study each being that crossed his path, but each one proved to be nothing more than mortal.

"Undertaker? You said initially there were two reapers aboard this ship… aside from Mister Sutcliff?" Sebastian asked, finally breaking the silence as they made their way to the main deck of the ship.

The mortician shoved his anxiety aside, and he nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Michaelis. Granted, my peepers aren’t the best, but my other senses are sharper than ever and I distinctly identified two reaper auras before. The second one has curiously gone missing.”

He tapped a nail against his teeth in thought. “Could be he left his fellow to deal with the rest, once they got aboard and set off.”

There was a darker, more sinister possibility though. His brow furrowed beneath his bangs, and Ronald noticed the pensive look on his face.

"Well? What else could it be?" Prompted the blond impatiently. "I’ve done enough overtime, geezer. If you’ve got another idea, spit it out!"

Undertaker shushed him with a wave of his hand. “In time, my dear. In time. I’m thinking on something. Some elders tried to merge with demons, and that was their downfall. There’s a possibility that one of the reapers might have eaten the other one, and that’s why I’m not sensing his aura anymore.”

He shrugged and grinned. “But the possibility of that is mightily thin. Demons can’t typically dine on our souls as it is. I can’t imagine a reaper-demon hybrid being much different.”

"So the other guy bailed," reasoned Ronald, spreading his hands. "What difference does it make right now? We’ve still got to find Senpai and his aura is fading away! The penguin here says he thinks he’s still on-board, so I say we keep looking!"

Sebastian’s right brow rose as he tilted his head and looked at the blond. “Penguin? I can’t say I have heard that one before Mister Knox.”

Sebastian cleared his throat as he addressed the ancient once more. “As I said: yes, I do believe the fiery one is still amongst us. How? I am unsure. Thus far, every being that has crossed our path, appears to be mortal. If there are more reapers on board, they also are untraceable. I urge caution, gentlemen. I have a very bad feeling about this voyage.”

The Undertaker slapped Ronald smartly on the back. “I’ll imitate your dear Willy here and caution you…“‘Do behave, Ronald Knox! We must be proper!’”

That said, he sobered a bit and regarded Sebastian. “Grell is here. His aura is a bit on the smudged side, but I can feel it. I believe you’re right, my reluctant raven, and the enemy has somehow managed to hide him from our sight. Ronald!”

The younger reaper barked in surprise, immediately blushing at the reference to his superior. “Uh, yeah?”

"You know your mentor better than most, and you know his tricks." Undertaker loomed over the uncomfortable young man, poking him in the chest with his long fingernails. "I want you to keep an exceptionally sharp eye out, boy. He could be right beneath us. If he’s had his free will compromised as it was when he left my shop, he may very well have disguised himself unwittingly. Understand, boy?"

Ronald pushed the poking fingers away from his chest uncomfortably. “Yeah, I get it. Jeez, would you stop that? I want to find Senpai as much as you do!”

The Undertaker backed off, sobering. “Sorry lad. I just want to find our dear Grell, is all.”

Ronald relaxed a bit and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s okay. I’ll have a closer look around, old man.”

The demon pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Gentlemen, we are getting nowhere. We know what we are dealing with. So shall we get a move on? The main deck awaits.”

 

* * *

 

"Charles? What is Germany like? Will I love it? Will your parents accept me? I am scared and excited all at once. I can barely contain myself. What if I forget myself and make a fool of myself before them? What if they are angry with you for having not mentioned your marriage to an English woman? I am afraid they will be displeased with us. I can’t bare it." The blonde woman rambled nervously, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

"My darling, Celeste." He softly called her name.

His arms slipped around her waist. He pulled her into a warm embrace as he tried to calm her fears by replying in a lover’s tender voice. “Fear not, my precious. My parents shall adore you. You are like warm sunshine when you smile. And therefore you will warm their hearts as you have mine, since the day I laid eyes on you. Do you remember that day, Celeste?”

She beamed up at him, her hands on his shoulders resting delicately. “Yes. I was reading by the brook. Just outside my father’s land. You were watering your horse. You had knelt down to have a drink, yourself. I heard your horse nay and when I looked up… you looked up at that moment as well. Our eyes met and…”

She giggled, covering her mouth. “You fell in.”

"I lost my balance, because I was not expecting to find a precious jewel sitting on the other side of the bank. Hidden under an old Willow Tree, no less. I was rather dumbstruck in that moment. I had never seen someone so beautiful in all my life."

"You flatter me. I am no jewel. Just a plain maiden… with lots of money." She teased.

Charles frowned down at her, before lowering his head to kiss her.

 

* * *

 

As promised, Ronald began to examine every human he came across with extra care. He’d convinced the Undertaker to split up, reasoning that the three of them could cover more space in their search if they went separate ways. It was kind of funny to be treated in such a paternal manner by the eccentric old kook—but he supposed it was just proof of how much the Undertaker truly cared for his senpai. When he thought about it, it was mildly flattering, really. The man was a living legend among their kind, and here he was entrusting Ronald Knox with a task that obviously meant so much to him…while trying to protect him at the same time.

"I’ll bet you’d be proud of him, Senpai," muttered the blond as he wandered around on the main deck, checking out every mortal he saw. "Guess he really loves you. Where the hell are you, though? What did they do to you?"

He started to feel a little sick to his stomach at the possibilities. How could anyone not only overcome his mentor, but hide him so damned completely from both an ancient and a powerful demon? What were they dealing with, here?

He started to pass by a kissing couple, when the voice and words of the young woman gave him pause.

_"You flatter me. I am no jewel. Just a plain maiden…with lots of money."_

He recognized that voice and the teasing tone immediately.

_~Senpai!~_

He stopped and stared at the couple, wide-eyed. He couldn’t see the gentleman’s face because his back was turned to him, but he was tall and dressed in a fashionably dandy way. The “lady” pulled away slightly as they broke the kiss, and though her coiled blond hair was the wrong color, her teeth appeared perfectly normal and her eyes were a shade of blue, he recognized that smile and that face immediately.

Of course, Ronald Knox had a deplorably impulsive nature, so keeping his mouth shut was nigh impossible. In fact, the sight of this stranger being so intimately familiar with his obviously brainwashed mentor was enough to make him see red, and he didn’t even stop to think before acting.

"Hey, get off of him, fuck-face!"

Ronald launched himself nimbly at the man taking liberties with Grell, leading with his death scythe.

The blonde screamed as she was pushed out of the way, landing hard on her side. She looked to her beloved. Watching him in horror as he fell onto his back, the blond man atop him as they rolled across the deck. The sound of a loud roar came from the contraption the blond had had in his hands, but now lay toppled over against the deck railing.

She struggled to get to her feet, getting caught in her petticoat and falling onto her stomach. She twisted her head and looked at the two men fighting. Once again trying to push herself up.

"Charles?! No! Get off him! Let him be!" Celeste yelled at the stranger as she used a barrel to help her up onto her feet. Her skirt was torn along the hemline, delicate lace dragged behind her as she stumbled toward the feuding men.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker stopped in his tracks at the sound of Ronald’s scythe roaring to life, somewhere on the other side of the ship. His stomach clenched when he heard the young reaper’s vulgar challenge, and he wondered if he’d managed to get his precious rose’s understudy killed by sending him out alone. Gritting his teeth at the prospect, the ancient readied his scythe and sprinted toward the sound. The black, button-up shirt he wore whipped behind him as he ran, and the crescent blade of his scythe flashed in the moonlight.

He found Ronald going at some gent he didn’t recognize as if the man had insulted his mother, and there beside a barrel was a blonde woman, trying to catch her balance and intervene. He didn’t think anything of it until she hollered a protest, and then his heart seemed to lodge in his throat.

"Grell," he whispered. The gentleman that Ronald had attacked seemed to recover from his initial surprise then, and the blond reaper was launched quite suddenly through the air by a kick that no mere mortal should have been able to deliver. He crashed directly into the Undertaker, spoiling his cloak against mortal vision, and they went down together in a tangle.

"Sebastian," hollered Undertaker when he could draw breath again, "This way! We’ve found—oof!"

Ronald’s elbow dug into his solar plexus as the boy levered himself up, driving the breath from Undertaker’s lungs. Before the mortician could get back to his feet, Ronald was off again. As painful as that kick must have been for him, he was entirely focused on the man that he’d seen daring to lay hands on his mentor. With a wild yell, he charged at him again, his eyes glinting with a promise of vengeance.

"What have you done to my senpai, you jerk?" The question was followed with a focused swing of his clumsy looking weapon—which Ronald wielded with shocking ease.

Deciding he couldn’t wait for Sebastian if he didn’t want the boy to get killed, Undertaker called forth a slew of his sotoba and hurled them at the tall man, while Ronald was still in the air. He could sense his power and he came to the chilling realization that this was indeed an ancient they were dealing with. At least the grave markers might provide enough distraction for Ronald to get a hit in, and if not, at least the mystery reaper would be forced to deflect or dodge his attack before making another against Ronald.

"Grell, love," called the Undertaker, closing in as soon as he launched the barrage of sotoba at his target, "Are you hurt?"

Celeste stared wide eyed at the silver haired figure approaching her. She began to back away, until she met the wall of the inner portion of the ship. Her eyes focused on the strange being.

Charles vanished just as the ancient, Japanese grave markers pierced the very spot he stood in. He reappeared behind the blond reaper as he landed on the deck.

"You’re a foolish youngling. Do you honestly believe you can defeat me?" he growled in Ronald’s ear, a dagger held at the base of his throat.

Undertaker tore his attention away from Grell, trying not to let the blank lack of recognition on Grell’s features break him. He’d obviously been mentally trifled with somehow…but he couldn’t let that make him lose hope, and he certainly couldn’t allow the reaper responsible for it to harm or kill Ronald. He reacted with experienced instinct, not giving their opponent the chance to cut into Ronald’s vulnerable throat with the dagger he’d produced. Hardly needing to aim, he launched another sotoba directly at the face of Ronald’s captor, hovering just over the blond’s shoulder.

"Whoa, are you nuts?" yelped Ronald as the sharp wooden stake flew at him. Undertaker’s aim was perfect, however. The sotoba whistled by without so much as grazing the boy’s ear.

The ancient grinned widely as the sotoba passed through his body.

"Do you honestly believe that a grave marker is going to do me harm, old man?" Charles shouted as he shoved the young reaper from him, sending Ronald down the side of the deck on his stomach.

Slowly, the man walked towards the silver-haired reaper. The dagger vanished from his hand. As he drew near the blonde woman hidden partially behind the Undertaker, he called to her.

"Celeste, dear. Are you alright? You are safe. You can come to me. This old fool has me mistaken for someone else and will do me no harm or yourself. Right, old man?"

Nervously, Celeste pushed away from the wall and cautiously began to walk to her husband. But then she paused and turned to face the older gentleman. Her eyes searched his. A burst of anger flickered across her Sapphire orbs.

"You bounder! How dare you and your friend attack my husband!" she fumed, bringing her hand up and slapping the retired reaper across the face. With that she turned and scurried to her husband’s open arms, burying her face against his chest before asking. "Are you alright, my love? Are you not injured?"

"I am fine, my precious." He replied, his gaze drifting to that of the Undertaker’s. "She is mine. You best understand that, old man. No other man will touch her."

Khronos stood shocked, his hand flying to his stinging cheek where the pink mark where Grell’s palm had struck him. He thought he’d figured out the trick his opponent was using, but his lover’s evident contempt coupled with that rueful slap knocked his forming plan right out of his skull.

"Senpai, he’s not your husband!" Ronald picked himself up and yelled the denouncement hoarsely, his emotions boiling to the surface. "Your name isn’t ‘Celeste’ and I don’t know who he is, but you sure as hell aren’t his wife! Undertaker’s your guy, not this creep! He’s done something to your mind! Snap out of it!"

Then Ronald visited Grell with the same treatment that his hypnotized mentor had given to the Undertaker: as the fake blonde turned her face to look at him, he closed the distance and slapped her across the face.

"Ronald!" Undertaker shouted the blond’s name, snapping out of his painful daze somewhat.

"Don’t believe me?" panted Ronald as soon as the slap was delivered, "check under your petticoats! You might be a lady but you’ve got something the other girls don’t have! See what happens next time you take a piss!"

The Undertaker wasn’t paying much attention, but he was heartened by the hesitation that flickered over Grell’s features. He was concentrating on the reaper holding his love enthralled, hauntingly familiar with the trick he’d just pulled to make himself non-corporeal long enough to allow the sotoba to pass harmlessly through him. He knew how it was done, and he knew how to counter it. He just needed enough time to…to…

Oh. Time. If there was one thing he understood and could play with better than anyone else, it was time. He was just a bit out of practice. He called upon abilities he hadn’t used for an age, and he began to manipulate the flow of time. Ronald’s shouting slowed, his voice seeming to deepen as the alacrity of speech abandoned him. Even the air seemed to thicken, the salty breeze barely stirring the hair of the four reapers on the deck. Time began to reverse, and Ronald started talking backwards. His hand came out awkwardly and in slow motion, it swung in a reverse direction from its original course to Grell’s face. The captive reaper’s head turned and Ronald stepped backwards, away from his mentor and the stranger that held him.

"Reh chout lliw nam retho on," said Grell’s captor, the words dragging out of him in reverse. He seemed to realize what was happening, but the Undertaker now had a firm grasp on the fabric of time and space. He alone was unaffected by the temporal anomaly he’d created, and he grinned.

"What was that, chap? Having some trouble enunciating, are you? Let’s see how you do when I stop it completely, eh?"

He halted the flow of time just as Grell moved away from his captor. Maintaining his concentration, the mortician walked over to his lover and scooped him up. Grell was stiff—frozen in mid-stride at the moment he’d run to the dark-haired, tall reaper that had kidnapped him.

"Sorry, my dear," whispered Khronos with a grunt. At least he wasn’t limp deadweight in his arms, but he felt like he was moving a statue made of Shinigami flesh. "I never should have let it come to this."

Eerily, he could see his frozen opponent’s eyes following him as he began to carry Grell away. This was most certainly no common Shinigami, and the Undertaker had a nagging feeling that he should recognize him. Not even the oldest of those born after the originals should be able to bat an eye when he froze time like this, and yet the fellow’s gaze followed his every move. He couldn’t seem to move other parts of his body yet, but Khronos didn’t want to take the chance that he might break free while Grell’s freedom was at stake.

He created a portal, dividing his concentration just enough to make the gateway that would get him, Grell and Ronald out of there. He set Grell down before it carefully and he went to retrieve Ronald.

"Mr. Michaelis, I don’t know where you are but now would be the time to fly home to your master," he called out. "I really don’t have the time to wait around for you, chap…no pun intended!"

Trusting the demon to take care of himself, Undertaker grabbed Ronald and Grell around the waist and he dove through the portal—just as his hold on time slipped. He didn’t need to look back to know that his opponent had broken free, and he collapsed the portal as soon as they made it through.

They were at least a hundred feet above London.

"Oh, balls," griped the mortician as he and his companions fell like rocks.

 

* * *

 

Charles, no, Lloyd Garrison smiled broadly as he was freed from the grip of time. He had nothing to fear of the retired reaper and so he strode for the stairs leading to the cargo hold.

"So brother, you have remembered your lost talent. But I am afraid your love is no longer. And now you have lost your demon as well." He smirked as he made the descend to the bowels of the ship.

Sebastian struggled against the binds that held him. Ensnared by a demons trap, he now glared at the ancient reaper as he approached the glowing cage he was now captive of.

"I would like to know with whom I have been captured by?" he demanded, his brows pinching together.

The ancient reaper waltzed up to the cage and smiled darkly. His face blurred, then appeared to be that of a skull as he replied, “Death.” And just as quickly his face returned to normal.

"And you my ancient prince, are the demon Raum." He stated as he took a seat upon a box across from the cage. "I was there at your birth you know? Funny thing how mortals came before even you. They were above your kind and your brethren. Of course back then your kind had yet to exist. It was because of man, your kind were cast from Heaven."

Annoyed, Sebastian cocked his eyebrow, “While I appreciate the history lesson, “Death”, I would much rather know…. what is it you mean to do with me? I mean nothing to that biscuit loving fool, so I cannot comprehend what possible means I am to you.”

"In time… In time," Garrison coyly remarked as he stood.

A portal opened in front of the cage and Garrison stepped through, disappearing before the caged raven.

 

* * *

 

"Well, this isn’t good," remarked the Undertaker as the London buildings and streets rushed towards him.

Ronald came out of his daze, and he shouted with alarm at the realization that they were about to be splattered like bugs. “H-holy shit! What the hell?”

"Don’t panic," advised the mortician. "We’re reapers, boy. The fall won’t kill us."

"But it’s sure as hell gonna hurt!" Ronald looked over at his mentor, embraced by the ancient’s other arm. Grell seemed to be unconscious. "Hasn’t he been through enough, old man?"

Undertaker looked at his stricken lover, his long hair whipping straight up as they fell. Yes, Grell had been through enough. He didn’t want to add broken bones and bruised organs to the list of abuse he’d had to endure. “Right. Ronnie, grab hold of him. I’m going to try something.”

"Oh Styx help us," despaired the blond…but he reached for Grell nonetheless, white-lipped with fear.

Undertaker’s hasty plan was almost juvenile in its simplicity. He was too drained and anxious to try and warp time around them to slow their fall, so he chose a more direct and primitive method. He rolled over in the air and pulled both his companions on top of him, just as they landed on the street below. The impact was agonizing, but he broke the fall of both younger reapers and took the brunt of the damage. He felt his ribs break under the force of Ronald and Grell landing on him, and the cobbles cracked beneath him. He vaguely heard a woman scream with alarm, and it occurred to him that all three of them were quite visible to humans, right now.

The worst part of it was biting his tongue when he landed. That actually hurt more than the cracked ribs—until Grell came too and ground his knee into his groin in his efforts to get up.

"Unh…I’d prefer to be slapped again," groaned the mortician, even as he embraced his disoriented love to keep him from running off. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, and he couldn’t tell if it was all from his injured tongue or if some of it had come up from his esophagus as a result of lung damage. He smiled at Grell despite his pain, marveling over how flawlessly he’d managed to disguise his natural red hair color.

"You’re all right, love," coughed the Undertaker. "I…took the brunt of it. No need to keep up the act. You’re safe now."

Celeste was unaware they were no longer aboard the ship. The impact had woken her from time’s grip. He hair had unraveled and curtained down and around her and the Undertaker, blocking the view of the London street. The fabric of her dress torn at her shoulder. She struggled to free herself from the arms encircling her waist. Slapping at the old man, she hadn’t even realized the blond fellow, who had attacked her husband, was right next to her.

"Let me go, you barbarian!" She hollered, her hand landing clear across his face again. "Charles help me!"

Her shrieking threatened to attract far too much attention from nearby mortals. Some of them had already seen the trio fall from the sky, and they were hurrying over to see what had happened. Casting a quick look their way, the Undertaker ignored the sting of the slap and he grabbed his lover’s wrists to stop another one from landing.

"I know you’re confused, my dear," he said, "but I can’t accommodate your wishes, and ‘Charles’ won’t be coming for you anytime soon. Knox, open us a portal to the Shinigami realm. We’re going to have to take Grell to your flat for now."

"But they probably know where I live too," reasoned the blond uncertainly. "The guy that did this saw my face and he can probably track us down there just as easily as he could follow us to your place."

"Then we’ll move her again as soon as we can," insisted Khronos, not even stumbling over the gender pronoun. Grell was his lady after all, regardless of gender…and right now he certainly appeared to be female in every way. Those breasts weren’t just stuffing in the corset—he could see the cleavage, and he’d felt it against his chest. It shouldn’t be possible that the fiend could have truly altered Grell’s form this much in such a short time, but he didn’t have the time right now to work out just what he’d done. The poor dear obviously believed he was this "Celeste" that his captor had dubbed him, and Ronald’s earlier challenge for Grell to check his knickers for parts might actually result in the discovery of lady bits.

"Ronald, we can’t linger here," urged Khronos as "Celeste" continued to struggle. People were going to see a strange tall man with sweeping silver hair manhandling an obviously gentle-born woman and draw the natural conclusion that he was assaulting her. "We don’t need to stay at your place, but we sure as spit can’t stay here right now. The portal!"

Ronald abandoned further argument, seeing the humans closing in with curious anxiety on their faces. “Yeah, I’ve gotta agree with that.” He opened up the portal and he waited for Undertaker to drag his altered senpai through, before following himself. To the humans, the three of them seemed to simply vanish into thin air, and the portal closed behind them.

 

* * *

 

Celeste’s eyes were full of fear and shock as the portal opened and she was dragged through, kicking and screaming. The last thing she saw before the portal closed was a man running towards her and her captors, shouting for them to stop. Then silence. The streets of London gone. Her home. Her world.

The arm around her waist tightening as she was dragged into a strange building, a home. Where was she? Her head shot up in defiance, her eyes locking with the blond across from her.

"Cretins! Let me go! Charles will have your heads when he finds you!" she threatened, spitting and hissing like a feline in an alley fight.

She swung her leg forward and as it came back with full momentum, the heel of her shoe landed the Undertaker square in the shin.

"Bloody hell," hissed Khronos, stubbornly maintaining his hold on his altered lover as he hopped on one foot. "Darlin’, I know you don’t believe it right now but ‘Charles’ is the one trying to hurt you, not us. The elevator, Ronald…hurry!"

The boy almost looked like he wanted to cry as he pressed the button on the elevator. “She…he…someone’s going to hear this.”

Undertaker gave the woman in his arms a pained look, completely sympathizing with Ronald’s angst. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

He employed his long unused abilities once more, creating a time flux around “Celeste” that would put her in stasis. He hated to do it, but his only other option available to him at the moment was to knock her out. This was far kinder.

 

* * *

 

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Celeste moaned as her eyes slowly began to blink open. Her head was aching…a dull pounding, like someone knocking on her brain . Dazed and confused, she started to look around the room she was in. It was not familiar to her. As her eyes came into focus, she began to make things out. The walls were lemon yellow and a strange black box set on the top of a chest drawers in front of her. It was still dark, but there was a light on; a hurricane lamp, she assumed, burning nearby and flooding the room in warmth. The curtains on the window were blood orange. There was a sofa to her right and another chair to her left, both tan in colour. A small, rectangular table sat between the seating and bottles of liquor adorned it.

The sound of voices broke through her haze. Instantly she recognized them. The blond and the old man. Celeste tried to get up from the chair she was in, discovering she was unable to. Wide-eyed, she looked down. Metal shackles were locked around her wrists and there was a chain running around her upper arms.

Frightened, she screamed. “Help!”

Ronald jumped at the cry, nearly spilling the beer he’d liberated from his refrigerator. Hearing his mentor yell for help put his heart in his throat, and he glanced at the Undertaker before heading into the living room. The blond woman with Grell’s face and voice seemed to get even more alarmed at the sight of him, and Ronald called out to him.

"Senpai, it’s me!" He put his beer on the coffee table and he went to the bound woman. "Grell, please! Stop for a second and look at me. Don’t you recognize me? Hey, old man…get in here and let him…her…see you!"

The mortician walked into the room, unusually somber. He approached the girl and he knelt before her, dragging his bangs out of his eyes so that he could look upon her without the veil…and in turn, she could look upon him. “I don’t think she’ll recognize me right now,” he said, “but I can try to reach Grell.”

"You said you thought you knew what was going on," accused Ronald. "What the hell did he do to him?"

"It’s an illusion," answered the Undertaker. "A bloody good one, but just an illusion. Grell hasn’t been physically altered; just masked. As for where the rest of him went, I’m still working that out."

He spoke to the woman, who seemed a little surprised when she saw his face. Either some part of Grell was still sentient enough to recognize him at least a little, or she was startled by how young his face was, beneath the mass of hair. Either way, she was jarred enough to quiet down for a moment. He held her gaze and he spoke gently to her. “Screaming will only hurt your throat, my dear. I’ve created a barrier around this apartment to keep the noise from reaching anyone outside. Listen to me for a moment. Look at me. No harm will come to you here…not from either of us. Do you understand me, love?”

Tears formed in her eyes as she stared at the silver-haired man. He wasn’t old at all, but the scar across his face was frightening non-the-less. She wondered who he was and why he was calling her love? If no harm was to befall her, then why was she bound? Why was she taken from her husband?

Choking on a sob, she asked, “W-who are you? Why…. why d-did you take me fr-from my husband? What do you… you want with me?”

He saw it then: the soul looking back at him from those eyes did not belong to his Grell. He could see her repulsion as her gaze swept over his scars—a thing which Grell had never expressed. Indeed, the crimson reaper had expressed only appreciation for the battle marks that striped his body. He swallowed hard. She wasn’t to blame, whoever she was. He believed that Grell was still in there somewhere, because what sense was there in having his very essence obliterated? Wundt wanted him, and Khronos had to believe that Grell’s soul was somewhere safe, even if it wasn’t inside of the body that reaper had cast an illusion on.

"I want to try and find my lost lover, my dear," he murmured, keeping his voice gentle despite the pain twisting his heart. "I don’t mean you any harm. Your restraints are only there because I had to get you away from that man you believe is your husband, and you wouldn’t listen to either of us. Your name is Celeste? And you say your husband’s name is Charles. What year is it, Celeste? Can you tell me that?"

"You lie." She snapped. "My husband is Charles Demetric Grimm. And you took me from him. How dare you treat me like this! Do you have any idea with whom you are speaking?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she glared at her captors. Her cheeks were a rosy hue and her temper was boiling just below the surface. In her mind, she was making a vow to see these two men hang for such transgressions. Accosting a lady of high society and such. How dare they.

Undertaker did his best to ignore her barbs. “Ronald, write that name down.”

The blond looked faintly startled and miserable at the same time. “Why? It’s just some bogus name that creep made up when he brainwashed Senpai.”

"Maybe not." Khronos kept his gaze on the irate blond bound to the chair. "He could be real. The reaper that took Grell altered his own appearance too, so if this fellow is real, he could have made himself look like him."

Ronald sighed. “Okay, but I want to know what’s going on and why you keep humoring this chick.”

"I’m not humoring," explained the Undertaker, briefly shutting his eyes. "This isn’t Grell sitting here, right now."

Ronald ogled him. “Hey, I know the guy did something to his body but it’s still Grell! Look at his face! Listen to the voice! She…I mean he…whatever…even mouths off like Senpai!”

"That’s because she’s a lady," said the ancient, opening his eyes again to give their guest a pained smile. "Just like Grell. This isn’t brainwashing as we’d thought, though. Your mentor could never change his physical gender. Someone else did this, and the soul I see looking back at me right now matches the looks that wanker slapped on Grell’s body. I need you to write that name down, and then I need to contact an old friend for sanctuary and some assistance."

"Okay but…if that guy swapped souls, then were is Senpai’s?"

Undertaker looked away, his eyes stinging. He’d thought nothing could ever hurt him as bad as the loss of his previous lover. He’d been wrong. “I’m not sure, boy. I’m not sure.”

He took another deep, shaken breath. “Lady Grimm, tell me what year it is.”

"Why do you want me to tell you the name of the year? Don’t you know or are you that daft?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Eighteen and ninety-two. And just to answer any other questions you have. I am Lady Celeste Elizabeth Whitmore Grimm, daughter of the Duke of Cornwall. I was born on the twentieth of May, year eighteen and seventy. Does that satisfy your curiosity or is there more?"

If she could have, she would have crossed her arms over her chest in exasperation.

"May I trouble you for a glass of water? I am rather parched, thanks to you two bounders. Charles must be mad with worry."

"Well, she’s got that right," observed Ronald as he wrote down the lady’s information on a pad of paper. "What does that mean? She’d have to have been killed pretty recently to know that, if that jerk got her records and put them into Senpai."

Undertaker didn’t answer, because he could see the panic flash in her eyes when Ronald suggested she was killed. “Let’s see about fetching that water you requested, milady. Ronald, loosen her bonds a bit—just enough to put some padding in them and make them more comfortable.”

The boy put away his notepad and approached the woman warily. “Are ya sure Senpai isn’t in here, ‘Taker? I mean, I know it’s a girl I’m seeing and all, but she sure looks like Grell in the face.”

"Distant relation, perhaps," mused the ancient, still staring at her. "Could be your mentor took on his previous mortal visage when he arose as a Shinigami—if not his mortal coloring. Some reapers do that. It could just be a funny coincidence, too. Mayhap we’ll find out later."

"What in Hell are you two talking about? I am not dead… nor is my husband." She asked, confused as she glanced between the two men.

Her attention switched to Ronald as the blond began to fumble with her binds. She watched how he carefully adjusted the grip they had on her wrists and was tremendously grateful for the padding he added. She had light, delicate skin. Where the clamps had been placed around her wrists, had already began to chafe and redden.

The silver-haired man had said he would get her water, but instead he continued to squat before her, staring. She could feel his gaze boring into her and turned to glance at him.

"Pardon me Sir, but it is rude to stare," she chided. "Is there something else you need know or are you trying to catch flies with your mouth?"

She looked back at the blond. “You two are the strangest people I have ever come across. I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you two are talking about. If I were dead… how could I be sitting her talking with you? I insist you return me to my husband at once. And if you are afraid of what he might do to you, you may return me to my Father’s estate.”

Disturbed by the thoughts forming in his head, the mortician forced a smile and stood up. “I promised you water, didn’t I? I’ll just go and get that now. Ronald, I’d like to use your cell, if I can.”

"Sure, but you know they might be able to track us that way, right?"

"They won’t be able to track the number I’ll be calling or monitor the conversation. By the time they realize where we are, I’ll be off the phone and we’ll be on our way."

He could have used the trick from earlier and used a raven, but he didn’t want to get predictable.

"Okay old man," sighed Ronald, "I sure hope you know what you’re doing."

"Trust me. Just get the lady a glass of water while I make that call."

A moment later the blond returned with a glass of water. Celeste marveled at it.

"What sort of a glass is this?" She asked Ronald as her eyes roamed over the shiny, bright, yellow surface of the tumbler in his hands. "I have never seen a glass like it before."

"It’s aluminum," he answered unhappily, holding it out for her to have a drink. "Man, I guess you really have taken over my senpai. He’s drank from these glasses about a hundred times."

Celeste sipped the cool water as the blond tipped the glass for her. The water was fresh and it tasted delicious, unlike any she had ever tasted before. Her scratchy throat was soothed by the liquid as it trickled down her throat. Her dry mouth now moist. She licked her lips as he pulled the cup from her lips.

A tiny blush dusted her cheeks as she bashfully thanked him. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

Her eyes wandered to the older man in the kitchen. He was talking on something that slightly resembled a telephone. Her parents had one in their home. A new device that many had not yet encountered. But this one was shaped more rectangular and there was no cord. But a strange wand like thing stuck up from the top part, near the ear.

"May I ask what is a sen…pai?" She asked unsure if she was pronouncing the title correctly as she turned her face back to the blond. "I cannot say I have ever heard that word either. And… please? Let me go. I want to go home. I want to be with my husband. I do not know who you are searching for, but I can assure you… I am not them."

"It’s a Japanese word," answered Ronald. He waited for her to swallow before offering another sip of water. "It means he’s my elder…my teacher. Look, we can’t let ya go. That guy that was on the ship with you isn’t your husband. I don’t know where he is, but that guy wasn’t him. He’s the guy that kidnapped my senpai, and that guy over there—"

He pointed at the Undertaker, still talking on the phone.

"—He’s Senpai’s lover. He’s trying to help me get him back. The guy you were with on the ship did something to disguise himself…and I’m not sure, but I think he somehow switched you and my senpai. It’s confusing…but I think the old man over there might have a lead. It’s not your fault, so we aren’t going to hurt ya. But if you want to get back to wherever it is you’re supposed to be, you’ve gotta start listening to us. Undertaker over there wouldn’t hurt you for the world, ‘cause you’re stuck in my senpai’s body and I’m pretty sure he’s head-over-heels for him…and I guess I’ve already told ya how I feel about it all. We just…want him back."

Nearly choking on another sip of water, Celeste burst out laughing. “You must be joking. There is no one inside my body but myself. What a preposterous thing to say… silly boy. And as for him-“

Celeste nodded the at the Undertaker, before returning a wary glance at Ronald.

"That old coot? His lover is another man? A man you believe inhabits my body?" She asked, nervously.

_~What an odd bunch of people. I really need to get out of here. I do not know what they propose to do with me, but I don’t want to stay here and find out. I have to find a way out of here.~_

Celeste smiled as best she could as she spoke once more. “Sir? I need to use the privy.”

"Uh…" Ronald scratched his head uncomfortably. She’d need her hands free for that, and if her female body was just an illusion as the Undertaker suggested, she was bound to have a surprise in store when she went to pee. Even if everything downstairs looked female, it should still work like guy bits and that meant aiming. It was probably going to spray everywhere if she just sat down and went like a girl.

He glanced at her cleavage as discreetly as possible, half tempted to find some excuse to accidentally bump against it just to see if it felt as real as it looked. How good could an illusion be? Could it actually mimic the physical flesh? Undertaker was the one that had wrestled with her, so Ronald couldn’t be sure.

"Let me get back to you on that," he said. "Oh and by the way; where we come from, there aren’t any hangups about two people of the same sex hooking up. You humans have a long way to go before you’re enlightened…as Spears-senpai would say. And yeah, you’ve got a man’s soul inside you and whether you believe it or not, you’ve stolen his body. You’re a thief, even if that’s not your fault."

He was getting angry again, but he couldn’t help it. It was creepy how much she sounded like Grell. She even talked like him and he was starting to think his senpai might have had a twin sister when he was mortal. That shouldn’t be possible, though. He wasn’t sure how old his mentor was, but he knew that he and William had trained together some fifty years ago. The lady inhabiting his body would be an old bat by now if she had managed to live to the current year.

Shaking his head in confusion, he put the glass aside and got up to speak with the Undertaker about his dilemma.

 

* * *

 

"Thank you, old friend.  We could use any help we can get right now, and maybe together you and I can suss out what’s going on and find some way to fix it.  We’ll be there shortly."

Undertaker hung up the phone and he looked at Ronald as the boy approached.  “What’s got you blushing, lad?”

Ronald spoke in a low whisper.  “She’s gotta go to the bathroom.”

Khronos winced.  “Oh.”

"What should we do?  I mean, she’ll need to use her hands, right?  And what about her…stuff?  When you were grappling with her, did she feel…well…curvy?"

The ancient frowned in thought.  “Not that I noticed, but then Grell has some rather feminine attributes already, minus the breasts.  The illusion shouldn’t be able to create flesh out of nothing or remove flesh that was already there before.”

"Yeah, that’s what I thought.  So what happens when she tries to pee like a girl and ends up doing it like a loose hose, instead?"

Undertaker snickered impulsively; the first laugh he’d been able to muster since this all happened.  “Oh my…that might actually give her cause to consider that we aren’t just making up a wild tale.”

He sobered again and he looked into the living room at her.  “So much like Grell, though.”

"I know, right?"  Ronald’s brow furrowed.  "You said it’s not him, but she’s got about the same temperament, same face structure—"

"Same lips, same arse, same hips," murmured the ancient longingly.  He smiled wistfully.  "She even hurls the same insults at me."

"Uh, sure."  Ronald flushed again.  "What I want to know is how this ‘lady’ can be so much like Senpai, if she’s really the ghost of someone else put into him?"

Beneath his hanging bangs, Undertaker’s eyes narrowed.  “Wundt is obsessed with Grell.  I wonder…is it because of Grell himself, or is it because he reminds him of someone else he wanted?  I couldn’t fathom why he would approve of that reaper aboard the ship boxing up Grell’s soul to replace it with another, but maybe it wasn’t really Grell he was after, to begin with?  We need to find out if this woman’s husband is still alive; if he even exists at all.”

Ronald felt chilled.  “Oh man, what if he’s trying to swap him out permanently?”

Khronos lowered his head.  “The thought just recently occurred to me too, chap.  We can’t know for sure until we’ve had the chance to look into it more.”

Ronald’s work phone began to beep, and he fished it out with a frown.  “Shit…I’ve got to be in the office in an hour.  If I don’t show or call in sick, it might cause problems.”

Undertaker nodded.  “Business as usual; that’s the best thing you can do for now, Mustard Seed.  Help me keep an eye on our little body thief while I see her to the loo.  Are there any windows in there she might try to jump out of?”

"Well, yeah…a little one.  It’s just over the shower, but it’s a big drop to the ground from this floor and as far as she knows, she’s just human."

"I think in her current frame of mind, she’d probably risk going splat over staying in our custody.  I suppose you can guard the door and I’ll guard the window, while she does her business."

"I wouldn’t turn my back on her if I were you," suggested Ronald with a peek around the taller reaper’s body at their prisoner.

"Wasn’t planning on it."

Ronald’s brows shot up.  “So what…you’re gonna watch her pee?  Good luck with that.”

"I’ll happily blindfold myself and stand in the shower," answered Khronos.  "I’m used to relying on my other senses, if you recall.  I’ll sense her if she tries to come near the shower.  Just go in there and make sure you get all the stabby things out before we let the lady do her business."

The blond grimaced.  “Man, this is going to be awkward.”

Undertaker patted him on the arm and smiled.  “Chin up, love.  We’ll get your senpai back, one way or another.  And once we do, I’ll be sure to let him chew Whundt’s cock off himself.  I’ll just go talk to the lady while you childproof the loo.  Once that’s done, we’ll move her to a safer location and you can go on to work.”

With that said, the mortician approached their guest and gave a little bow to her.  “You’ll have to pardon us, my dear, but in order to accommodate your needs I’m going to have to chaperone you.”

 

* * *

 

Celeste sat and watched as the young man went to speak with the older man. She watched their body language the way they talked to each other. They weren’t going to let her go alone to the privy. She just knew they were trying to discuss how they would allow such a privilege.

While they were busy she began to look around the room. The drapes were drawn so she couldn’t tell what lay beyond. When they arrived she hadn’t seen much of the outside. Her memory was of them appearing just outside a door and then being dragged inside. Then the world went black. She could tell it was still nightfall outside, but the hour was unknown. She had no clue to their whereabouts and if anyone would be willing to help her. She felt disgusting and most likely looked like a bloody street walker.

_~There has to be someway to get out of here.~_

A strange beeping noise came from the blond man’s pocket and then he cussed.

_~How vile. ~_

Then the older man turned and glanced at her and she blushed. It was the way he looked at her in that brief moment. Soft eyes.

_~Why are you blushing you twit? He wants you for some reason and now you are blushing. He most likely means you harm. Pull it together girl. You have to concentrate. Charles, you need to get back to Charles. He could be hurt or worse.~_

She spotted the front door just as the two men emerged from the kitchen. Perhaps she could make a run for it when they released her. For sure they would let her free to use the water closet.

 

* * *

 

She looked up at the tall, silver-haired man as he bowed over her. Her eyes enlarged as he stated the obvious. She, however, played the innocent.

"Pardon me? You wish to do what? No. I won’t allow it. I am a lady in London society. You are an old codger and a creep. And he is no better, just younger." She stated, huffing while nodding in the young man’s direction. "I will not be watched as I try and relieve myself. It is improper for anyone to accompany a lady in the privy. How vulgar of you."

Were he not so familiar with Grell’s antics by now, Undertaker might have missed her subtle looks about.  By all rights, in his worried and distracted frame of mind he probably should have; but if anything the situation he was in made him even more observant and unusually cautious.  The lady inhabiting Grell’s body shared a lot of the crimson reaper’s personality traits, as well as looks.  By that reasoning, he expected her to share his cunning, as well.  He smirked at her and knelt before her, combing his bangs back again so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Think ol’ Khronos wouldn’t notice your sly looks, milady?  Sorry to disappoint you, but I have…and I know an actress when I see one.  Let me make something perfectly clear to you:  I am nobody’s fool.  I know I look funny to you and I act like a mad old codger, but that’s just the surface—and it’s just as much an illusion as the breasts so delightfully straining at your cleavage.  Tut, tut—"

He interrupted her as she started to blurt an indignant response, pressing one long-nailed finger against her parted lips.  “Shh, I’m not done yet.  Ronnie and I have been generous with you, because you’re just as displaced as our Grell and anything we do to you, we’d also be doing to him.  I’ll warn you now, though…I have limits.  What your ‘Charles’ means to you, Grell also means to me.  If you’re incapable of believing anything else I tell you, at least believe that.  Our situations aren’t so very different, my dear.  Your husband has been stolen from you, just as my lover has been stolen from me.  You want to be with Charles again, and I want to be with Grell again.  I can make that happen for both of us, given half the chance.”

He lowered his gaze thoughtfully, his long, pale lashes sweeping down to mask his eyes.  “Your real husband was not the man on that ship.  He was the one responsible for abducting Grell and displacing you to hide him from us.  It was an act to keep you docile and cooperative, and if you’re interested to know, my friend and I are going to try to find the real Charles Grimm and do our best to reunite you with him.  If you really want to see him again, you’ll cooperate and tell us any information you can about him, to facilitate that.”

He looked at her again, his eyes softening once more as he briefly caressed her soft cheek with the backs of his knuckles.  “You’re so very much like him.  I can see why they chose you to switch with him.”

He took his hand away and curled it into a fist, his emotions rising to the surface at an alarming rate.  “I’ve lost one lady love already.  I won’t lose this one too…not if I can help it.  The people that did this to both of us will pay dearly, milady.  That’s my sincere promise to you and to Grell.”

His vision swam and he blinked, wiping his eyes hastily and looking away with faint embarrassment.  “Ah, pardon me, love.  Seems I can be a bit of a softy when I’m deprived of what I really need.”

Ronald came out of the bathroom with an armload of various toiletries that he’d put into a basket, then.  He saw the morose look on the Undertaker’s face and he paused uncomfortably.  “So, the bathroom’s cleared out.  Unless she plans on washing your mouth out with soap, you should be all good.  You okay, Undy?”

"Fine," answered the mortician shortly.  He composed himself and looked at Celeste again, managing a sparkling grin.  "Right, then.  Your powder room awaits, milady.  I’ll have Ronald blindfold me for the sake of your modesty, and he’ll wait outside while I escort you in to the potty.  Please keep it in mind that while I’m not daft, I really am prone to madness at times—particularly now, when my lover is in danger of losing more than his life.  I could do so much worse than embarrass you if you don’t cooperate, and I don’t have to do physical harm to either you or Grell to do it.  Please do us both a favor and don’t test me, my dear.  If you’ll be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.  Fair?"

He freed her from her restraints, straightened up and offered a pale hand to her.

Celeste made one more glance to the door and then he touched her cheek. He was sincere in his words. Whomever he was missing, Grell he had said, he genuinely missed them. She swallowed hard and blushed once again and then his hand was gone and the blond reemerged from the privy. His arms loaded with all kinds of bizarre items.

There were tears in his eyes. He tried to hide them, the silver-haired man. But she had noticed and her heart melted, his words sinking in to her very core. He offered her his hand as he undid the chains. A bit frightened and reserved, she accepted it and allowed him to help her to her feet.

She wobbled. Her legs were asleep from sitting for so long. Before she could stop herself, she fell against his hard chest.

"Oh!" She yelped and shyly looked up. "I’m terribly sorry. My legs… I think they are a..slee…"

_~His eyes. They are too enchanting. So strange. But see how he looks down at you. Like Charles and how he holds you.~_

The feel of his arms around her waist…it was different from before. Not rough, but gentle. Her breasts pressed up against him and her corset became rather tight. Her mouth ran dry and she had the strangest urge to kiss him.

Khronos suffered a similar affliction to his senses, because for one brief moment as she looked up at him with wide eyes, her pale golden brows furrowed in a way that reminded him so much of Grell, he thought he saw his lover’s soul looking back at him again.  He supported Celeste’s body against his, and he eased one arm from around her waist to trace her features with his fingertips.

"I’ve got you, my dear," he whispered, and the promise was meant as much for Grell as it was for her.  Styx, how he missed that volatile, flamboyant reaper.  He stared at the parted lips, the inviting, confused look in the eyes staring back at him, and he wasn’t even aware that the distance between their faces was closing.

"Heavens, I love you," he heard himself say, his lips barely an inch from hers.

The sound of Ronald Knox’s basket of toiletries crashing to the floor rudely broke the spell.  “Hey, what are you two doing?  Cripes, Undy…you’re supposed to be guarding her, not making out with her!”

So embarrassed he wished he had a coffin to shut himself up in, the mortician lifted his head and retreated a step, still supporting her by the shoulders in a less intimate—but still cordial—manner.  “Ah, begging your pardon, Lady Grimm.  Moment of weakness…shouldn’t have done that.”

Celeste jumped and turned her head to the blond, watching the load of items tumble from his hands. Then the absence of warmth and she looked back to the man before her. Had they just nearly kissed? Her cheeks warmed at the thought and she nodded in response to the older man’s apology.

"Please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t particularly behave in such a manner. Your words, they just sounded so haunted to me."

Undertaker’s expression matched her description of the tone of his words.  “That’s because they are, my dear.  Not many people would love an old spook like me…at least, not any more.  I had my share of admirers back in my youth, but now…”

He chuckled and smirked ruefully.  “Now they all look at me as the twisted old creep…except for him.  He saw me that way himself once, but then he saw beneath all that and…I haven’t felt loved like that in so long.  I miss him.”

Ronald looked away and rubbed his eye.  “Speck of dust or something,” he muttered in excuse, turning his back on them.

The mortician sighed, feeling utterly his age for the first time since…well, since forever.  “I’m not trying to gain your pity, my dear.  All I want is your cooperation.  You’re being kept from your love, and I’m being kept from mine.  I think if we work together, we can rectify that.  I can’t promise to trust you and I wouldn’t expect you to do the same for me, but I can promise I’ll do my best to see we both get what we want.  You’ll simply have to put up with my friend and I for a while longer, while we work this out and figure out how we’re going to get you home and get Grell back to us.” 

Celeste looked deeply into his eyes. He was right she did not trust him. How was she to? Everything had been crazy ever since the blond attacked her husband. And no she didn’t believe the man on the ship was an imposter. But what was else could she do? She fortified her mind, willing herself to be strong. In that moment she decided to be brave for Charles. She would go with these two for a time, see where they would lead.

With her mind made up she met the silver-haired man’s gaze. Nodding she agreed, “I can accept that. We have no reason to trust each other, but as you say I have what you want and you have want I want.”

"However I do in fact have to use the privy. It may have been an excuse before… now, I indeed need to relieve myself. Please do not accompany me. Give me the benefit of the doubt. How humiliating if you come in there. Improper. I don’t think I could if you were there, listening."

Her plea was sincere. Fear of humiliation resided in her eyes as she begged for privacy. Her hand tightened on the man’s wrist. “Please?”

"Don’t do it, Undertaker-senpai," warned Ronald when he saw the ancient wavering.  "You said you know acting when you see it and—"

"I do, and she’s not," interrupted Khronos, staring deeply into her eyes.  There was something there…a spark, perhaps.  Something of Grell was awake enough in there…her reactions to him moments ago were proof of that.  Whatever she considered her "better judgment" right now, her instinctive need to be close to him was winning out over her wariness. 

Of course, it probably helped that she was in a strange place with no idea of where to go and what amounted to a killing drop for a mortal, if she tried to squirm out through the window.  He wanted to trust her…but as he’d told her before, there was too much at stake and he was no fool.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t compromise.

"I’ll see you to the loo, Miss," he offered, "and Ronald here will be right outside the door.  Call out to him when you’ve finished, and he’ll make you comfortable for transport.  Will that be all right by you?"

"You mean you will let me have a moment to myself?" She blinked a few times trying to absorb what he said. "Yes… yes. Thank you."

Without further thinking she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Her heart gave a faint flutter and she stepped back. She touched her lips with her finger tips. Then slowly, her gaze rose to meet the man’s eyes.

"I… I should…"

She spun away and stumbled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Dropping to her knees she covered her face and wept.

 

* * *

 

Ronald rounded on the Undertaker as soon as the woman closed the door behind her.  “Are you nuts?” he hissed.  He pointed at the door.  “That dirtbag on the ship had her totally convinced he was her husband!  You’re just going to let her go in there all alone?”

"I never said that," whispered the ancient.  "Keep your knickers on.  I’m going out the living room window over there and I’ll scale the wall and be right outside the bathroom.  If she tries to climb out, she’ll land directly into my arms."

Ronald calmed down.  “Oh.  Well, you’d better get going…”

He trailed off at the sounds of quiet weeping that came through from the other side of the bathroom door.  His brows knit and he looked that way with concern he couldn’t quite help.  “Sounds like she’s crying.  Or is that Senpai?  Should we…check on them?” Poor Ronald was still so confused about the whole situation. 

"No."  Undertaker shook his head.  "I told her I’d give her a moment alone, and that’s what she’ll get.  Ask your mentor sometime if I ever fail to fulfill my word to a lady."

Ronald scratched his head and looked toward the living room window in question.  “Well, you’d better get out there quick, then.  I hope you’re right and this isn’t all some trick.”

 

* * *

 

After a few minutes and a few hiccups, Celeste pulled herself up from the floor. She stood before the mirror above the sink and studied her reflection. Wiping away her tears, she tried to imagine herself as a man. But all she saw staring back was herself.

"Madness. This is all madness. I am me. My hair. My eyes. My breasts." She whispered as she touched each body part. "There is nothing wrong with my body. It’s real. Its not an illusion. So why did they kidnap me? They say I am a thief. How can I be a thief? I stole nothing."

"Charles? Where are you, my husband? Please find me. I’m frightened." She started to cry once more as she hung her head.

A wave of nausea assaulted her and she was forced back to her knees as she lost the contents of her stomach into the commode.

 

* * *

 

Outside the window, clinging to the wall like a spider, the Undertaker listened to the sounds of distress inside with a frown.  As much anger as he had for Wundt and his cohorts, he couldn’t muster anything but sympathy for the poor, displaced ghost inhabiting Grell’s body.  She clearly believed she was still alive…believed that the body she was in was her own.  He couldn’t blame her for doubting them.  That reaper they had faced down on the ship did a very thorough job with the transference.  Perhaps he even had the lady’s body preserved somewhere, to have her records transferred back into it at a later date.  Maybe Grell was just meant to be the carrier until they reached their destination.  What if he’d made a deal with Wundt, offering Grell in exchange for having a human woman he’d obsessed over restored for his own personal pleasures?

What if…what if.  There were too many “what if’s” and not enough answers.  All he knew for certain was that the ghost of a woman with an uncanny resemblance in both features and personality to his Grell was now inhabiting his body, and she was there because of some master plan he had yet to uncover.

He sighed and he waited, trying to harden his heart against the sounds of grief.  It was difficult, because she even wept like dear Grell.  Undertaker could honestly say he hadn’t frowned so much in a century.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, both to his lover and to the woman occupying his body.  "I couldn’t stop this from happening, but I’ll fix it somehow."

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Grabbing a towel from the rack that hung above her head, Celeste wiped her mouth clean. Her bladder was beginning to scream and she new if she did not hurry, she would make a mess of herself. She quickly got to her feet and began untying her pantaloons, though her petticoats and such kept getting in the way.  
  
Just as it was about to be to late she managed to free herself and sat down. A sigh of relief filling the tiny room., echoing off the lemon painted walls. The sounds falling from her lips were a kin to one reaching climax while making love.  
  
“Blessed relief!” She exclaimed as she leaned forward upon her knees.

 

* * *

 

Years of honing his other senses to compensate for poor vision had given the Undertaker the hearing of a bat. When he heard the woman’s exclamation of relief, issued in such a climactic and heartfelt voice, he actually blushed. He’d heard Grell issue such cries in the throes of passion, and his mind immediately went there.

"Guess she really did need a piss," he reasoned. Surely she wasn’t crying out like that for other reasons. The ugly and utterly stupid thought that Ronald had snuck in there to shag her crept into his head, and he immediately banished it with a grunt. He might be mad, but that was just insane.

Generally shameless on his best days, the mortician felt a sense of disgrace as he continued to listen closely, curious about how her bladder relief would pan out, if her female bits truly were just an illusion as he suspected.

Finished, Celeste stood and flushed the commode, surprised at how it worked; similar and yet different fro the one in her father’s home. After getting her undergarments sorted out she washed her hands, but found she could not approach the door just yet. She knew once she left the sanctuary of the privy, she would be whisked off to God knew where.  
  
Taking a few deep breaths she examined her dress. Tears and snags covered the majority of it and she shook her head. “My lovely dress. What a pity. I wish I had something to change into. I look a fright.”

Ronald checked his watch and sighed. “Hey lady, could ya hurry it up? We’ve got somewhere we need to be and the longer you stall, the longer it’s going to take to figure out how to fix this mess!”

Outside on the wall, still clinging over a thirty-floor drop, the Undertaker made a confused face. “Huh…fancy that.” No shriek of surprise, no wail of distress…nothing but a wistful complaint about the state of her dress. Either Grell had mastered the art of sitting and peeing like a girl without splash damage and the lady had unconsciously employed it, or there was more to the illusion than he’d suspected.

"Come to think of it, that little collision of ours did result in a pair of nice breasts pushing right up against my chest," he whispered. And he’d felt them. He’d felt them as if she were any regular woman in his arms. He hadn’t been paying much attention at the time, because all he could think about was the way she’d looked up at him with Grell’s passion in her eyes.

"Oh dear."

The implications sunk in, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Could that reaper have actually figured out a way to mold his very flesh to match the spirit he carried, in the short time he’d had Grell? Sebastian had said that he no longer sensed Grell’s presence—but he’d sensed it before, so it had to have been done sometime between when he and Ronald arrived on the ship and when they’d found Grell and his captor.

"Bugger…Sebastian!"

He’d forgotten all about the demon. Michaelis hadn’t shown for the scuffle, nor was he anywhere in sight when Undertaker and Ronald escaped with Celeste. The mortician couldn’t imagine that demon being easily captured or dispatched, but he should probably at least check in with Ciel and find out if he’d made it back home.

"Well, I’ve probably burned that bridge by abandoning the chap," sighed the Undertaker to himself. He wasn’t even sure how Ronald had managed to convince Ciel to loan him to them, but if anything had happened to Sebastian—well, it could mean Ciel’s soul would be safe at last, but his goal for revenge would be sorely compromised. If that were the case, Undertaker would offer to assist Ciel himself in Sebastian’s stead…but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. He could phone the boy from Anderson’s, once they got there.

With a sigh, he put thoughts of the demon aside and returned his full attention to the sounds of the young lady inside, fretting over her appearance. Part of him wondered how his love would feel about living the rest of his life as a woman for real, if they could not reverse what was done to his physical form. His memory was so foggy; he felt like he should know how it was done, but he couldn’t recall it. He’d tried so hard to bury painful memories that he’d forgotten some of where he came from…and he was woefully out of practice with the unique abilities bestowed upon him by the Divine.

 

* * *

 

Celeste looked to the door with a start. “I’ll be out momentarily.”  
  
With a final glance to the mirror, she adjusted her bodice and smoothed her skirts. She ran he fingers through her hair like a comb trying to untangle the mass of blonde tresses. Taking a few deep breaths, she reached for the door and turned the knob.  
  
“There, are you happy now?” She asked as she stepped up behind the blond. “I didn’t try to escape. I did what I said I was going to do. Now where is it we are suppose to be going?”

Ronald shrugged. “Beats me. He’s got some friend he wants to work with on this, and that’s all he’s really told me. Glad you didn’t try to sneak off. I guess the old guy was right.”

Absent his top hat, the Undertaker climbed in through the living room window and approached, his black garments fluttering about his booted feet and his silver hair slightly mussed from the evening breeze. He clasped his hands and smiled. “Well now, are we ready to go?”

Surprised by the older gentleman’s appearance through the window, Celeste rounded on him.  
  
“What under Heaven were you doing out there? Were you watching to see if I would try to escape from the window in the prvy? Are you nuts? Men. You are all crazy.”  
  
Huffing, she marched over to the chair she had been bound to and sat down and glared at the pair. “I demand to know where you are taking me.”

Stricken once more by how similar her rants were to Grell’s, the Undertaker watched her with nostalgic amusement. He smiled in a haunted way, tapping his fingernails against his lips for a moment before answering. “We’re going to stay with an old friend of mine. I’ve known the fellow for over a millennia, and he’s about the only reaper I trust besides Ronnie, here.” He nodded at the blond.

"Well, who’s this friend of yours?" Ronald asked.

"Another ancient," replied Khronos. "I’ve mentioned him before. You young folk call him ‘Pops’."

"Oh…him." Ronald’s face crinkled up a little. He had trouble imagining the quiet old glass-maker as a godly figure, no matter how ancient he looked. He hadn’t really thought of Undertaker that way either, though. "You think he can help us?"

"I think he’s the best ally we have right now," answered the mortician with a nod. "He’s got defenses around his home similar to the ones I employed in my shop, but he’s more in touch with the old powers than I am. He might be able to find us more information, and Grell…that is, Celeste…should be safe from discovery by our enemies for a time, there."

"Pardon? You are taking me where and to see who?" She cocked her head. "Why can’t you just return me to the real Charles if you are convinced the one on the ship was not my husband?"  
  
Defiantly, she gripped the arms of the chair. “I am not going to another strange man’s place. I am tired and my dress is torn. I want to go home.”  
  
Like a bratty child, she pursed her lips and stared at the floor. Her cheeks were a shade of red, and one could almost imagine steam puffing from her ears. It was obvious that her temper was beginning to boil. The irate young lady was about to erupt.

Undertaker sighed, trying to remain patient with her and finding himself lacking. “We can’t take you to your husband until we find the bloody man, can we? The man I’m taking you to has resources that we lack, my irate little body-snatcher. As darling as I find your tantrums, we really don’t have time to pander to your delusion that you have any say in this at all.”

He was surprisingly angry with her, suddenly. Angry with her for taking over Grell, for looking like him, smelling like him, possessing the same allure as him and even pouting like him. Who did this chit think she was? Well, he wasn’t going to fall for her wiles and let her seduce him again with her pouty lips and big, soulful eyes and adorable temper. The mortician unwittingly began to sulk himself, beyond tired from this whole ordeal. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a sullen look to match the one she was giving him.

Ronald looked between the two of them, feeling like he was caught in the middle of a lover’s spat…and that was just plain weird. Is this what they were like when he, the Undertaker and Grell, had an argument?

"And how do you plan to make me go with you? Knock me unconscious again? Drag me chained against my will? You are cruel. I want no part of this. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to help you. I want to go home this instant!" She grumbled and spat. Then against her will she yawned. "I am to tired. I want my bed… and my husband."

Undertaker pursed his lips with annoyance, and all traces of the silly old eccentric vanished. He straightened to his full height and he spoke in an authoritative tone of voice, deep and ancient as the wind. “And the more you resist, the longer it will take for you to have both. You can rest once we reach our destination. Wait around here and the people responsible for our predicament will find you, and I can promise you that their intentions are far less honorable than mine. I could easily subdue you again if I wish, but I’d prefer to treat you like a lady and be your escort, rather than your jailer.”

He leaned over her, gazing deep into her eyes. “I know that you believe the man you were aboard that ship with was your husband, but if he takes you again you’ll eventually learn the truth of it…after he’s had his way with you, or given you over to another creep to simply take you by force. Which will it be, Lady Celeste? Neither one of us have laid an improper hand on you. The man masquerading as your husband has already been rather familiar with you, and since you’re too blind to see through the ruse, he’s sure to lift your skirts before you finally comprehend the truth.”

The ancient squatted down before her, still holding her gaze. “Do you know much about the legend of King Arthur? Never mind; I’ll tell you anyway. He was conceived through treachery. Uther Pendragon was obsessed with the Lady Ingraine, you see—so much so that he went to Merlin for aid, begging for his help to seduce her. For whatever reason, old Merlin went along with his plot and conjured a temporary illusion…one that would make Pendragon appear as the lady’s husband, Gorlois. It was solid enough for the poor dear to fall for it, and he had his way with her while her husband was away fighting a war. That’s how King Arthur was conceived. That’s how your bastard child may be conceived, if you don’t start using your head. Would you like that, Lady? Giving birth to a stranger’s bastard because you couldn’t tell him apart from your own husband?”

Ronald winced as the lady paled, feeling sorry for her in spite of himself. “Take it easy, old man. That’s kind of harsh.”

"It’s just the truth," countered the Undertaker over his shoulder. Well, the truth as she would understand it. He wasn’t about to tell her she couldn’t get pregnant. He didn’t even know for sure that she couldn’t, given that he was uncertain whether the body she inhabited had truly been made female inside and out. Reaper births were a rare thing when they occurred at all, but it wasn’t unheard of. "This silly girl is in a rather big hurry to be violated. I’m simply trying to open her eyes. She’s either too thick to see what’s really going on here, or she’s so far under his spell that she can’t…oh…wait."

He frowned, realizing there was a very simple way to prove to her that reapers could change their appearances at will. Undertaker smacked his forehead and chuckled. “Khronos, you old fool.”

Ronald’s brows migrated to his hairline. “What? Did you forget something?”

Undertaker shook his head. “No, I just remembered something. I’m more than a bit out of practice, seeing as I never saw a reason to completely disguise myself, but…”

He had to try. He hadn’t done it since…well, since the age of Arthur; but the ability wasn’t lost to him. He’d seen what Charles looked like, and if altering his own appearance to mirror his temporarily would prove to this stubborn female that illusions were real, it was worth the headache.

The Undertaker grinned at her, and he stood slowly up. “Very well, little lamb. I can see you need to witness it with your own eyes, to believe that you’ve been tricked. Say hello to your husband, my dear.”

He closed his eyes in concentration and he ran his hands over his body, bending over to start at the booted toes and work his way up. His appearance shifted, along with his height and build. He lost about four inches, gained a little muscle mass, and his hair seemed to retreat into his skull until it was collar-length, wavy and the color of molasses. When he opened his eyes again, they were hazel. He smiled down at the ogling woman and gave a bow.

Ronald dropped his keys.

Celeste was dumbstruck. A tinge of fear slithered down her spine, yet she did not scream nor faint. Her mouth agape, she blinked, trying to grasp what she had just witnessed. Slowly she rose from her chair. Timidly, she reached out to touch the man’s face. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs and her knees shook, but she did not falter. She ran her fingertips along his jaw line. Her eyes searched his.  
  
“How? I don’t understand. Are you a sorcerer? You… you look just like Charles. Every de… detail.” She gulped, still running her palm over his cheek.

"I’m not him, my dear," explained the Undertaker with some slight regret. She was looking at him the way Grell usually did, and it pained his heart. He allowed the illusion to melt away and he gazed into her eyes. "Do you see now? If I can do it, so can he. You have been used, milady."

She turned away as the spell dissolved and the stranger’s face returned, along with his trademark silver tresses. Looking downcast, heart breaking, Celeste stumbled to the sofa and grabbed the back of it for support. Softly her voice flowed from her with a hint of tears lacing it.  
  
“I see. Does… does this mean my marriage is a sham? Is there any truth be… behind Charles Grimm? Or if that man on… oh God!”  
  
She spun back around and faced the older gentleman. “If that man was an imposter and not my real husband… my marriage was not a farce. Then where is my husband? What did he do to him? What does he want with me?”  
  
Unable to fight the tears any longer, Celeste collapsed against the Undertaker’s chest, crying. “Who is he? Why would he do this? I don’t know your Grell. I was on my way to be meet my in-laws. I want to go home. Please let me go home. Where is my Charles… my husband? Please?”  
  
She trembled as sobs assailed her body, her fists gripping the folds of his black robe. Desperately, she raised her head and looked up at the man she held fast to. Her cheeks were stained with tears, eyes red and puffy. One word fell from her lips.  
  
“Why?”

Undertaker stared down at her, and he wished for all the world that he had some answer to her question. He’d seen another face like that, looking up at him demanding answers that he did not have. He enfolded Celeste in his embrace, holding her close without letting his hands wander.

"That’s what we’re trying to find out, dear. I don’t know that you can believe me right now, but I promise you, I won’t let any harm come to you."

"I’m scared." She confessed. "None of this makes sense to me. What are you?"  
  
Her grip tightened on the black cloth of the man’s robe as she closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe—a natural function she found herself struggling to do. Her head began to spin and ache. Nausea threatened her stomach once more.  
  
“I don’t feel so well,” she mumbled.

Undertaker caught her as she started to fall, and protective feelings arose within him. “Ronald, we need to move quickly. This could be a symptom of stress, or it could be a symptom of the alteration. Either way if we lose her, we lose Grell.”

Ronald didn’t need further encouragement. He opened the portal to Anderson’s home and he wasn’t really surprised when the Undertaker refused his help whilst carrying his burden through. He shook his head and again wondered what made people think that love was a good idea.

Celeste didn’t fight the man as she was scooped up into his arms. She was exhausted. The whole ordeal had been a trying one and she felt like she had not slept in a week. Her eyes burned from the tears she had shed and her stomach was cramping from the stress. She trembled with uncertainty. But in his arms she felt safe. He was warm and he almost felt like home. Perhaps she could trust him, though she was reluctant to do so. But at this point she was lost and had no idea where she was. Where she was going or how she would get home. He swore her protection. She could only hope he was an honorable man.  
  
Sleepily she inquired, “Who is this friend of yours that you are taking me to?”

"He’s an ancient, like myself." Undertaker impulsively nuzzled her hair as he carried her to the waiting portal. The familiar scent of Grell was a comfort to him. "We are what humans call the Grim Reaper, darlin’. Some like myself have retired, but the others spend their days gathering mortal souls to ferry over to the other side. The body that you’ve been put into is one of them. I don’t know what’s happened to his soul, but I know Grell Sutcliff is in there somewhere. My friend—whom I’ve known since before the written word—might have some idea of how to put both you and Grell back to where you belong. I’m…rusty. Out of practice. I’ve forgotten a lot of things I used to know, but Anderson might have a better memory."

He stopped at the portal and he looked down at the woman in his arms. “Hold tight to me, love. This might be a bit jarring, but it’ll be over soon. You might feel a little sick from the displacement, once we step through to the other side.”

Celeste’s eyes shot open, “Grim Reaper?!” Before she could say another word, the man stepped into the dark abyss. She clung tightly to him as they passed through a vortex of nothingness. Then there were stars. They were outside a sprawling two-story home. The sound of waves could be heard, crashing against a nearby shore. The smell of dawn was on the horizon.  
  
Her stomach flipped and churned. One hand let go of the silver-haired man’s neck and covered her mouth. A low, panicked moan passed through her fingers. Her cheeks were turning a funny shade of green-gray. She closed her eyes, wishing the nausea away.

Undertaker stopped, and he watched her with concern he couldn’t hide. “Deep breaths, Lady Grimm. I’m sure Mr. Anderson will allow you to use his privy, once we get inside. Ronald, go and knock on the door for us, please.”

The blond gave him a “death” salute and went to do as he was bidden. While they waited, Undertaker carefully shifted his burden in his arms, marveling over how light she was—just like Grell. “Feeling a little better?” he murmured, searching her eyes.

She shook her head, “I feel like… I refuse to in front of anyone. But I am so tired as well.”  
  
Celeste began to nestle against the man’s shoulder once more when she remembered his admission before entering the vortex. She looked up, panic-stricken.  
  
“Am I dying? If you really are a grim reaper… is that why you took me? Is that why I feel like I am dying right now? Why I long to sleep?”

He didn’t know how to tell her she was already dead, without putting her in hysterics. As it was, the body she inhabited was indeed growing weaker—possibly a result of the alterations done to it…or maybe it was a symptom of Grell trying to come back again. He didn’t sense death approaching, but she certainly needed rest.

"You’re exhausted from your ordeal, my dear," he said in a reassuring tone. "It’s not every day a person gets the sort of shocks you’ve had, after all. Speaking of shock…I think that may be your trouble."

Her skin felt clammy as he rubbed his cheek against hers experimentally, unable to check her forehead with his hand while he was holding her. “You’ve got the symptoms. Nausea, clammy skin, disorientation. Once we get you inside we’ll elevate your feet and get you some cool water to drink. If you think you need to be sick, I’ll take you to the loo. You’ve got no reason to be embarrassed, my dear.”

"You avoided my question. I’m dying aren’t I, or did die…" Tears welled up in her eyes. "That’s why you won’t take me back to Charles. I died on the ship, didn’t I? That’s why I do not remember getting from the ship to London."  
  
Carefully she raised her head and looked around. Once her gaze came back to the silver-haired man’s face she asked: “Is this Heaven?”

"No, this isn’t Heaven," supplied the Undertaker. "And you aren’t dying…because you aren’t truly alive anymore. You’re right, milady; I’ve been putting it off but you need to know the truth of it. I don’t know how and when you died yet, but like I said before; the body you are in isn’t your own. The imposter playing the role of your husband on that ship was another reaper like myself; an ancient. I haven’t worked out just how he did it yet, but he put your cinematic records—your soul—into Grell’s body and cast an illusion on it to make it look like you. I couldn’t recognize him, but there’s only one of two he could be. The man we’re seeing tonight is one of them too, so that obviously rules him out. The other is a woman and she’s always been impartial to the goings-on and struggles around her. I can’t see her as the sort that would conduct such cruelty."

He frowned, considering the possibilities. “That would leave either Hypnos or Thanatos.”

He blinked, startled by the moment of clarity. “Thanatos! That’s the one I couldn’t recall! He’s responsible for these scars I’ve got. Fellow never much cared for me…didn’t like the attention I got from the ladies and gents. That’s probably why he went for my face, when he came with the others to try and take my scythe from me.”

But was the reaper aboard that ship really Thanatos? He’d said a few things that suggested he was familiar with Undertaker, even if the mortician couldn’t place him. Hypnos, as he recalled, had never been the sort to do his own dirty work. It was unlikely he would have gotten personally involved in Wundt’s scheming. He was an arrogant reaper that considered the younger generation beneath him. It was difficult to remember so far back, especially since he’d done his best to forget the past. From what he recalled of Hypnos, the most interaction he’d do with the younger reapers was to toy with them…play mental games and see what he could make them do…

Undertaker’s eyes widened. Wundt. He was exactly like Hypnos, in all but appearance. The mortician’s memory was fuzzy, but he felt he should have recognized them if he saw either of them face to face again…unless they were using an illusion to disguise their appearance.

"I think I may finally know who to blame for all of this, my dear."

He swore softly, wondering how he could have been so blind. If he was right, then he could have done more to safeguard Grell, had he only realized who and what they were really dealing with. He’d been cocky though; believing he could protect the redhead from any common reaper…and his arrogance had cost Grell dearly.

The oaken doors of the house opened at that moment, and Lawrence Anderson stood backlit by the warm light coming from inside. “Hello, my friend,” he greeted the Undertaker, his aged eyes sweeping over him and the woman in his arms. “Bring her inside. I have some news for you.”

Feeling oddly protective of the ghost he carried in his arms, the mortician held her a little tighter and carried her up the steps.

Celeste stared blankly at the man carrying her. Was it true? Was she truly dead? A single tear slithered down her cheek. Her life didn’t exist any longer. She could never return home. Never kiss her father’s cheek. Never lay her head in her mother’s lap and tell secrets. Never again would she be teased by her brother or be privileged to see her young sister married. Never be held in her husband’s arms again.  
  
“I’ll never have a child of my own,” she whispered.  
  
A deep depression over came her as a few more tears escaped the confines of her eyes. She clung to the man holding her, afraid of what was to come and sick with the knowledge that she had no more future to look forward to. The sparkle dimmed in her eyes and she mourned the life she could never return to.

Feeling a surge of pity for her, Undertaker nuzzled her hair as he carried her through the door. “We can at least try to reunite you with your husband, if he’s deceased as well.” Anderson looked at her with concern, and the mortician shook his head silently, warning him not to ask questions just yet.

"You can place her in the third room on the right, up the stairs," offered Lawrence. "I’ll have some refreshment for her soon, and if the lady likes, she is welcome to bathe. I have a gown she can change into."

Undertaker raised a brow at him. “A gown, eh? Have you been entertaining lady friends, you old dog?”

Lawrence smiled, his mustache lifting with the motion of his lips. “Not lately, no. My sister sometimes visits, and the room I’m offering is the one she typically stays in.”

"Ah-ha, I see." Undertaker smiled. "How’s she been? Think she remembers me?"

"It’s hardly possible for you to be forgotten, old friend." Anderson smirked. "You left an impression."

The mortician winced a little. “Not a bad one, I hope.”

Anderson shrugged. “It takes a lot to offend her. You did manage to get around quite a bit in those days, though.”

Ronald shot the Undertaker an amused look. “What, were you some kind of playboy?”

The mortician shrugged as best he could, blushing a little as Celeste’s tearful gaze watched him curiously. “I’d rather not talk about that in the presence of a lady, but that’s a fair assumption.”

Grief stricken, Celeste couldn’t even thank the other older gentleman for his kindness. She normally would have welcomed a bath, but at the moment she was to broken hearted to care. The thought of Charles being deceased as well was too much for her. She hoped and prayed that that was not true. She hoped he was home with his family, well and alive. In her gut though, she doubted that very much. If that man on the ship was pretending to be him, it was most likely her husband lived no more. But that troubled her even more. If they were both dead, how?  
  
“What’s your name?” She mumbled softly to the man, the reaper carrying her up the stairs. “I never asked it and you never offered it. I’d like to know very much.”

"Folks call me the Undertaker," he answered, careful not to drop her as he ascended the stairs with Ronald and Anderson following behind. "Because I’m a mortician by trade. Once upon a time though, I was called Khronos. Not many people know that, my dear. I tend not to advertise it."

He counted the doors when he made it to the top of the stairs, and he carried her down the hall to the one Lawrence had offered. Pushing the door open with his boot, he brought her inside and he eased her gently onto the bed within. “There you are,” he said softly. “Want me to help you with your shoes? You might be more comfy without them.”

Behind him, Ronald’s brow went up. He didn’t know the mortician very well, but he was pretty sure he was looking at the imposter the same way he tended to look at Grell…and that wasn’t good.

"Khronos? I know that name." She whispered, her eyes never leaving his face.  
  
She didn’t answer him, nor did she fight him as he began to untie the laces of her shoes. His fingers moved delicately against her boot-clad feet…as though he was accustomed to removing foot wear. Then she realized an Undertaker was familiar with the removal of all manner of clothing. He would be used to such a thing.  
  
“Khronos was a deity. He was assigned time. To watch over it. Harness it. Give it to man. We, the modern era have come to know him as ‘Father Time’. Am I correct? The name Khronos is Greek?” She spoke low. The tears she had cried dried leaving trails upon her alabaster cheek.

Undertaker glanced up at her face as he slipped her right boot off. “That’s right, darlin’. To mortals, me and my generation were treated as gods, once upon a time. Those days are long over now, though.”

He began to work on her other boot, and Lawrence silently urged Ronald to go with him and give them some privacy. “So tell me about your Charles. Was it an arranged marriage, or did he court you?”

He tried not to think of Grell as he worked to make the lady more comfortable. He felt for her, and that alone seemed like a betrayal to him. He shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of holding her in his arms, of comforting her. The old Khronos might have even tried to seduce her, but that was the last thing either of them needed. He only felt like he wanted her because she was so very much like his crimson reaper, whom he desperately missed.

"Charles… courted me. He was from Germany and came to England to attend University. He was best friends with my brother. He stayed one summer with us and that was how I met him. We were inseparable after that. He was eighteen. I was just turned sixteen. My parents would not allow me to marry him until I turned eighteen. We were married shortly after my eighteenth birthday. That was nearly four years ago."  
  
As her other boot slipped off of her foot, she mustered a weak smiled. “Thank you. I am sorry if I have been childish. I just… I’ll never see him or my family again… will I?”

The mortician impulsively rubbed her stocking-clad feet in an attempt to sooth her. “You’ve been through a lot. No need to apologize for being upset. As for your family and husband, you’ll see them again eventually, however this pans out. Death isn’t a final goodbye, my dear. It’s only a temporary separation, and one day they’ll all join you in the afterlife. I know that can’t be much of a comfort to you now, but it’s the truth of it.”

He made himself stop rubbing her feet, trying not to think of the time he’d done that very thing for his dear Grell. It was shortly after they began seeing each other, and Grell had been asleep. He loved his little toes and the way the nails were always painted red. He loved the way he’d giggled in his sleep when he tickled them on a whim. He sighed and looked away, finding it painful to keep watching her.

"If anyone can understand how hard it is to be kept from who you need, it’s me. Please trust me when I say I’m doing everything I can to make it right for both of us, and please…"

He looked at her again, his throat aching. “Don’t cry, my dear. I hate to see a lady cry. I know that’s selfish of me but I truly don’t know how much of that I can take. My Grell…he cried against my chest so many times. I always felt so helpless, but I let him cry it out as much as he needed. I’d do the same for you if I thought you’d accept it, but…ah, pardon me. I’m babbling again.”

He put her shoes down by the side of the bed so that she could easily find them if she needed them, and he stood up. “I’ll see about getting you something to eat and drink, now. My colleague has news for me, so maybe we can have some answers to our dilemma tonight. You should try to rest, in the meantime.”

"Before you go."  
  
Celeste sat up. Then carefully she stood. In need of comfort, she flung herself into his arms once more. Her arms held him tight around his neck. Her breasts pressed firmly against his broad chest. Her pelvis brushed up against his groin. Balancing on her tip-toes, she nuzzled him slightly.  
  
“I know I need to sleep. I am tired. But I am afraid to close my eyes. Please… I don’t know why, but I feel safe when you touch me.” She whispered softly in his ear.

Undertaker was quite sure that if he could see the look on his own face right now, he’d burst into laughter. As it was, he suffered a moment in which his body went hot, then cold, and then he tingled all over. His arms automatically encircled her, pressing her feminine curves more tightly up against his tall form. Was she deliberately trying to seduce him, or was this Grell coming out in her? He couldn’t decide for sure and every moment he spent like this with her threatened to undo him. She wasn’t Grell…he knew this…and yet his body reacted shamelessly, remembering that touch and wanting more.

"It’s not you," he whispered, "what you’re feeling for me. That’s all coming from Grell."

He tried to back off a little so that she wouldn’t feel “little Undertaker” poking her in the stomach through their clothes. Reapers shared some of the same weaknesses as human men; one of which was the embrace of a lovely, desirable woman. He’d invited her to cry against him if she needed to, but he really hadn’t expected her to take him up on the offer so suddenly. She wasn’t even really crying right now…she was just…holding him.

"I’ll do my best to protect you both," he promised, the words tumbling out without any conscious direction. When she tilted her head back to look up at him with those soulful blue eyes, he swallowed.

_~Stop looking at me that way, lady fair. I’ll lose my head soon and kiss you, if you keep it up.~_

Was it really being unfaithful if he kissed the lips that still belonged to Grell, underneath that illusion? It wasn’t Celeste he was truly seeing, appealing though she was. She was staring at him the exact same way Grell would have, and it was scattering his common sense like so much piss in the wind.

 _~Celeste, what are you doing girl? You are married… well, you were married. He’s a stranger, supposedly a Grim Reaper. Stop. But those eyes. They are so unique. So beautiful. I want to drown in them. I have never seen eyes like them before. I…~_  
  
“I am sure you will do your best.” She replied as she raised further up on her toes. Her lips lingering closer to his. “What would happen if I kissed death?”

The reaper swallowed again, his breath intermingling with hers. “Death might forget to be a gentleman.”

The old Khronos might not have a problem with that, but Undertaker worried about the consequences of relieving his desire on this misplaced creature. Still, he didn’t pull away from her and his hands settled on her hips, sliding down in a seductive glide in spite of their owner’s attempt not to react to her advances.

Celeste allowed her eyes to close as she leaned closer. Her lips feathering against the reaper’s as her hands massaged the back of his head.  
  
“I would not expect him to be.” She whispered.  
  
Her heart leapt and she began to ache between her legs. Her bodice grew tight like it had at the blond’s home. She felt as though her body was moving on its own accord. She could not explain why she wanted him to kiss her, but she did. She imagined he would taste like cider. She would drink from his lips and become drunk from his kisses.

Already aching with desire and confused emotions himself, Undertaker’s instincts took over and he granted her wish. His lips pressed against hers softly at first, and he pulled her close again. Sweet…so sweet. He was again tasting his Grell, feeling the soft lips part invitingly against his. He didn’t even care if the woman or her host felt the evidence of his lust. Denied the one he longed for, he tried to reach Grell through the veil separating them, putting all of his love and need behind his kiss. His tongue sought entry to the pliant mouth and when it allowed it, he breathed in deep through his nose and embraced Celeste fully, lifting her up against him.

Passion’s play engulfed them. Celeste’s body felt afire and tormented. She longed to wrap her legs around his waist and give over to his bewitching powers, but a voice in the back of her head began to scream at her. She drowned it out, kissing him back desperately.  
  
Reluctantly she broke the kiss and stared breathlessly into his eyes. “I’ve never been kissed that way before. So desperate, so longing. I…”  
  
Her eyes burrowed further into his. He was burning as much as she was. Both desperate. Both aching. Both missing their lovers. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. It was wrong she knew it was, but she wanted more.  
  
“I can’t explain it… Khronos, but… touch me.” She pleaded.

He stared at her, his mind warring with his heart. His gaze drifted to her pale, heaving bosom and he damned himself even as he slid his hands back up her waist to cup the inviting mounds. He lowered his mouth to hers again, claiming her lips like a parched man being offered a drink of water. His groin was tight and hard in his pants, throbbing with the need for intimate contact. This was wrong…so very wrong…but he could sense how much she wanted it too. It wasn’t about love between them; it was a desperate need to reconnect with someone and salve the pain of their losses.

Undertaker brushed his thumbs over her nipples, straining against the fabric of her damaged dress. Damaged like he was…damaged like her. One could mend torn material, but what of hearts? A low sound of primal need grew in his throat at the sound of her gasp of pleasure, and he put one arm around her to pull her backwards with him toward the door. He slammed it shut and twisted the lock in two short, quick motions, and then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

"Need you," he gasped against her lips as he lowered her onto it and slipped his hand up beneath her skirts. He almost expected to feel the outline of male genitals when he palmed her between the thighs, his hand sliding over the lacy material of her pantaloons. There was nothing—which meant she was completely female down there, too. She said she’d never been kissed this way before…he wondered how else she’d never been kissed. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman and the desire to taste her down there was strong.

He felt the moisture coming through her garments, and he knew she wasn’t just putting on an act. She really did want him as much as he wanted her. He burrowed a hand down her pantaloons, his fingers combing through springy curls of pubic hair as he made his way to his target with experienced ease. He felt the little nub of flesh he was searching for and he rubbed it in little circles with his fingertips, mindful not to stab the delicate flesh with his nails. He muffled her little cry with another kiss, thrusting his tongue demandingly into her mouth.

Her legs began to part slowly, her body aching for more of his pleasuring touches. She moaned into the kiss as his tongue dove deeper. It had been… she couldn’t remember when last her and Charles had made love. It was an odd thought that disturbed her. She tried to blink it away and concentrate on the man in her arms, but she had a nagging feeling it had been some time. Did that mean she had been dead for some time? Was that why she was in such need to be touched? To have someone make love to her? Charles and her had never kept the custom of sleeping separately like most of London society. They slept every night together. Made love almost every night as well. But her body felt as though it had been years since she was made love to and she knew that could not be possible.  
  
Her brows pinched together pensively. She broke the kiss, but did not stop his lips from wandering over her neck and collarbone.  
  
“Khronos… I can’t remember when last I made love. Why can’t I remember?”

The question didn’t immediately register with the impassioned reaper, at first. He was so busy trying to figure out how to get her out of all those blasted layers without ceasing his attentions to her loins that it took him a moment to comprehend what she was asking. He paused in his kissing, but he didn’t stop massaging her womanhood as he lifted his head and gazed down at her. He stroked his middle finger between the soft folds of flesh beneath the nub, whilst still massaging it with his first finger. She was quite damp. He didn’t think it would take much more to bring her to completion and make her even wetter, but he didn’t want to ignore her inquiry and make her feel like she was only a body to be shagged.

"Chances are the reaper that did all this trimmed your cinematic records a bit while he was putting them into Grell," he reasoned. He planted little kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her chin. "That, or you’ve been gone longer than we imagined. We’ll find out, my dear."

He didn’t want to stop…not now, when he was so hot and desperate with need. He was no fiend, though…not when it came to his partners. Forcing her was the very last thing he wanted to do. He looked into her eyes again, his thin brows furrowing slightly with concern. “If you want me to stop, I will.” 

No. She couldn’t say she wanted to stop. The truth was she wanted to make love to him. She no longer belonged to Charles. If he was alive he most likely had moved on without her and even if he was dead, like herself, they would not be able to make love ever again. This might be the last time she could make love to anyone and though she knew deep down inside he was not making love to her, but the lover he had lost. She could not ask him to stop. At this moment she needed him as much as he needed her. There was a strange comfort in that knowledge.  
  
Shaking her head, she breathed. “No… I don’t care if it is wrong or right. I need this. You need this… ahh…”  
  
His finger brushed her sex, sending a bolt of pleasure throughout her body. Her nails dug into the back of his arms. Her mouth fell open as moans passed over her lips. She could feel her body expanding, ready to be filled with his manhood.  
  
“Khronos…”

Feeling a strong sense of relief that she still wanted to continue, the reaper sped up the motions of his fingers a little and he kissed her again. His tongue lanced in seductively, stroking inside of her mouth with insistent desire. He kissed her for perhaps another minute, before dragging his mouth away from hers and kissing his way down. He was eager to free those magnificent breasts from their confinement, but he knew that would require turning her over to unhook her dress and open her corset…or at least having her sit up. His fingers still recalled how to do it fast, but he intended to give her a taste of the other pleasures he could offer her, first.

Pushing her skirts up further, he made his way down her squirming body and he hovered over her once his face was at her hips. He reached under the bunched-up dress to tug her pantaloons down, still fondling her swollen clit and moist loins. The lacy garment came off and got tossed to the floor, and the Undertaker finally stopped caressing her to push both of her knees back, spreading her thighs wide to give himself complete access to his goal.

"Just relax, love," he advised in a coaxing purr, and he kissed the inside of her right knee, his lips trailing along the inside of her thigh. He unfastened the garter holding her hose up and he peeled the sheer garments off, exposing her pale, long legs completely. He kissed his way up her thigh, his lips worshiping the silken skin as they inevitably traveled closer to the apex. He glanced up at her and he could see her blush…her uncertainty. Maybe she wasn’t familiar with being loved this way, or maybe she was just trying to brace herself for something she knew was coming.

But if there was one thing Khronos had always excelled at outside of reaping and autopsies, it was lovemaking. He’d never told Grell about his rather colorful romantic history before he retired and got maimed for refusing to relinquish his scythe. He didn’t imagine the crimson reaper would have minded, but there was always that chance he might judge him, so he’d kept it to himself. Grell had asked him once about his skills and he’d brushed it off with the excuse that he simply paid attention—which was true enough, but the experience helped too.

He slipped his hands beneath Celeste’s bottom to lift her hips a little and angle them, and then he closed in on the waiting treasure and began to lick. He took his time with it, sliding his tongue between the damp, rosy folds with slow, steady intent. He pressed his thumbs on either side of the core, spreading the lips to expose the swollen little nub crowning them. He swirled his tongue around that spot before flicking the tip against it, making her body shake and shiver with pleasure. Breath hot and heavy against the sweet, tender flesh he was servicing, Khronos’ excitement mounted and he started to rhythmically stroke the tender little pearl, sending shockwaves of sensation through her body.

Celeste’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. It had been so long since she had felt a man’s mouth on her most intimate parts. Her fingers found their way to the glorious silver strands springing from the top of his head. She kneaded them in her hand, not tugging or pulling, but massaging the crown of his ancient head. What an incredible thought. A living breathing God was making love to her with his mouth, worshiping her body. Her lids closed, blocking out the details of the room. In her mind the Heavens looked down upon them, bathing them in precious light.  
  
And then she felt the breeze rolling off the nearby ocean. She could smell the tangy sent of it, the taste of salt upon her tongue. She moaned, her toes curling at his sides.  
  
“Well I see some things never change.”  
  
Celeste’s eyes shot open. Her head turning the direction of the stranger’s voice. There was woman dressed in black from her head to her toes, stood looking down at her and Khronos. A veil of lace was covering her face. She appeared to have hair as black as midnight. Her dress was form-fitting and hung to every curve of her body. It stopped just below the knees. The fabric was unlike any Celeste had ever laid eyes upon. The sleeves were long and came to her wrists. The bodice was cut low revealing a pair of milky white breasts, pressed up and nearly ready to depart from their confines. Her legs covered in black stockings, that disappeared beneath the skirt of her dress. Gloves covered her hands. Celeste could not see the heels she wore, that provided her with height that could compete with the Undertaker’s.

Undertaker stopped abruptly, his head shooting up and turning to stare at the figure he hadn’t seen in ages. For the sake of his bed companion’s modesty, he automatically tugged her skirts back down. Lips damp with Celeste’s essence, he peered stupidly through his bangs at the intruder, squinting to make her out. “Oh…hullo there, Atropos. Fancy meeting you here.”

 

* * *

 

-To be continued

 


	11. Chapter 11

Celeste scrambled to sit up properly. Her cheeks had turned as red as a rose in autumn and burned with embarrassment. She flitted with her skirts, trying to make herself look presentable.

The woman chuckled inwardly as she watched the young woman right herself. Then her eyes wandered back to the ancient reaper squatting on the floor next to the bed. Her bed.  
  
“Don’t call me that, you old fool. You know I never liked that name.” She chided as she walked over to her bed and held her hand out to the blonde. “Don’t be afraid child. My name is Moira Anderson. It appears this one has done a good job of seducing you. No need to be embarrassed.”  
  
Timidly, Celeste took the woman’s hand. “Celeste Elizabeth Whitmore Grimm.”  
  
“Grimm?” Moira’s eyebrow rose as she peered down at Khronos. “How ironic. I take it she is aware of what you are, you bounder. I thought you were done…. Wait.”  
  
Turning her eyes back to the blonde, she frowned. Something was off. Moira raised the girl’s chin and examined her face more closely.  
  
“What’s going on, Khronos? This is not her body. She is mortal, but this body belongs to Death. How is she inside a Reaper’s body? This girl’s string was cut some time ago; she ought to be in the Library. Not my bedroom, and certainly not in the body of a Reaper. What have you gotten mixed up in this time? Are you running more experiments? Please tell me you learned your lesson after that fiasco on the ship.”  
  
Celeste peered over at the Undertaker, unsure if she should speak up or not. The woman was intimidating, to say the least. Though her voice had been kind when she spoke to her, it had turned cold as ice when she spoke to Khronos. Was this woman an ancient reaper, like him?

"Easy on the questions, love." Undertaker held his hands up, his cheeks flushing at the scolding tone of voice, "I’ll answer them but you’ve got to give a body half a chance, and I’ll remind you that you’re old as balls too, before you start slinging the ‘old fool’ insults at me. This isn’t what it looks like—"

He glanced at the woman he’d been ready to shag moments ago, and his blush deepened. “All right, so maybe it is what it looks like…on the surface, at least. In my defense, I wasn’t trying to seduce the lady.”

He nearly said it wasn’t even his idea at all, but he still felt protective of Celeste and he didn’t want to make her sound like some tart. At once, he began to feel more irritation than humility. “And here now…don’t you know how to knock? I know this is the room you stay in but you just popped right in without a care for who might be staying in here, so don’t you go shaking your finger at me, Prissy Missy. I can explain all of this, but don’t expect me to cower before your schoolmarm attitude. I’m a grown reaper, mind you.”

Moira laughed despite herself. She really could not keep a straight face whenever in the presence of the former reaper. He was far too charming and too much of a good laugh.  
  
“I am quite aware how old I am, dear boy. But I can say I am not as old as you.” She patted him on the head as she strode past him, on her way to her vanity.  
  
Taking a seat upon the bench before the table and mirror, she swiveled to glance back at him. “By way… I was not aware anyone would be occupying my room. I am afraid Lawrence is terrible about ringing me and letting me know we have guests as we have them so often.”  
  
She was sarcastic and moody as always. But she was still kind as she once more looked at the blonde and smiled. “However this child may stay with me, in here. Safe from your claws and libido.”  
  
Turning to the mirror, Moira began to remove the hatpins from her styled locks. Her veil finally removed, she draped it over one of the side mirrors. Celeste peeked at the woman’s reflection trying to get a better look at her face. But the angle was to sharp and the only glimpse she received was a pair of brightly painted lips in the shade of red.

"Bygones be bygones," said Undertaker softly. Still acutely uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. Lady Celeste, meet Moira…an old friend. She’s not as mean as she acts."

He looked down at his boots. “Celeste is in the body of my lover; a reaper by the name of Grell Sutcliff. Long story short, there’s a Shinigami doctor going by the name of Wundt that had an unhealthy obsession with Grell, and he employed the skills of another reaper to kidnap him and bring him to Germany, so I believe. This reaper managed to put the Lady’s records into Grell and alter his body. I’m not sure why yet, but I have my suspicions.”

Undertaker looked at his “sister” through the reflection of the vanity mirror. “I’ve got good reason to believe Thanatos or Hypnos are behind this; if not both of them. I think Wundt could even be Hypnos himself.”

"Hypnos? I thought he was dead. No one has seen him in an age. Centuries. Why ever would you believe he was behind your lover’s plight? As for his brother… well he went underground a time ago. Been doing whatever he pleases. The Powers that be are not happy with his trade these days. Corrupting the young."  
  
Moira swiveled back around. One arm across her chest supported the other as she tapped her finger against the corner of her mouth. Her legs crossed at the ankle. “Perhaps he has been teaching this Wundt fellow the forbidden arts. After all, the last I remember of Thanatos, he was quite vehement about the rules and binds we were placed under. He never did like reaping the dead and I would not be surprised if he has broken even more reaper laws in recent years.”  
  
Her eyes wandered over to the blonde, who sat quietly and in awe over how beautiful the woman was. “Dear, don’t gawk. It is unbecoming of a lady of your stature to do so. “  
  
Celeste nodded and made a simple request. “May I take a bath? I feel quite out of sorts and…” Her cheeks began to pink up once more as her mind went back to what was happening when they, Khronos and herself, were interrupted by the woman in black.

"Of course!" Undertaker offered his hand to her, uncomfortably aware of the taste of her lingering on his lips. He wanted to talk to Moira some more and exchange thoughts with Anderson, but he at least owed this lady some courtesy. "I’ll show you to the loo, milady. Don’t mind her teasing; she’s just amusing herself at my expense."

Awkwardly, Celeste took his proffered hand. She turned to the woman and curtsied. “Pardon me and thank you for allowing me to withdraw to your room. It is much appreciated. I look forward to speaking again with you shortly.”  
  
“And I the same child. Now off with you. You will feel much better once you have bathed.” She smiled as she tipped her head. “And you old coot… no bathing with the filly. Leave her be. She needs some time alone.”

"Oh, you have no idea," muttered the Undertaker sourly. He offered Celeste a comforting smile though, and he escorted her to the bathroom. Once they made it there, he sighed and gathered his thoughts.

"I think I owe you an apology, my dear. Seems I’m not so strong as I thought. I never should have done what I did, and I dishonored you, myself and my dear Grell by acting out the way I did."

He bowed his head, aching inside. “I thought…well, I wasn’t really thinking, was I?” He lifted his head to look at her again, peering at her through his bangs. “It’s just…you’re so much like my dear Grell and we’ve both suffered a great loss. I lost my head.”

He took one of her hands in his and he raised it to his lips. “I won’t lose my head like that again, milady.”

She lowered her head and sniffled, “I suppose you are right. I just… I’ve never been so wanton before and it…” Sad eyes peered back up at him. “It felt natural to be in your arms. Your lips feel like home. I… I’m sorry if I behaved ghastly. I don’t want you to betray your lover… but-“  
  
“I should take that bath, now.” She said as she turned from him and wiped the tears forming in her eyes.

Undertaker sighed, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and comfort them both. He’d already seen proof that doing such a thing could lead to no good…and so had his compatriot. He silently cursed Atropos for her timing, even as he felt thankful for it. He’d nearly taken advantage of both his lover and the ghost inhabiting his body. The realization was like a fist closing around his heart, and he turned to look out the window with a soft curse.

"It wasn’t your fault, my friend."

Khronos turned in surprise as Lawrence—previously known as Moros—approached him quietly. He should have sensed him coming. He should have sensed Atropos too, but he was woefully disconnected from his previous self.

"Don’t tell me you were eavesdropping too," he complained softly, mindful not to allow the lady in the bathroom to hear him.

"No, but I could sense your anguish," answered Lawrence. He reached out and laid a comforting hand on the mortician’s shoulder. "You are out of sorts, Khronos. You’ve forgotten yourself and you’re pining for your lover. Forgive yourself."

"Easy to say," grumbled the Undertaker, folding his arms over his chest. He felt wretched. He needed a good wash himself—though it wouldn’t erase what he’d nearly done. "I almost violated my love’s helpless body. Grell couldn’t give consent, even if the lady in there could. Gods, Moros…what sort of fiend am I?"

"The sort that might just be in love." Anderson smiled. "I think you should take comfort in the fact that if your Grell is able to sense what’s happening at all, he might have been as willing as the lady. You aren’t a rapist, Khronos. You’ve had your share of tomcatting in the past, but I’ve never known you to force anyone. I’ve also never seen you quite so smitten."

"Feels like I’m dying inside," admitted the Undertaker. "I want him back, my friend."

Lawrence nodded. “I’ll do my best to help you. Please, go downstairs with your young friend and have refreshment. I’ll speak with my sister and be sure to see to the lady’s needs when she’s finished with her bath. We have a change of clothing available to her; Moira will see that she’s taken care of. I dare say the young woman fancies you.”

"It’s just an illusion," murmured Undertaker. His eyes were pained as he looked out the window at the night sky. "It’s not real. She wants comfort…wants to live. I took advantage of that."

"Again, I ask you to forgive yourself," comforted Anderson. "You did no wrong by her."

Undertaker smirked and snorted softly. “I could have, though. Thank you, at any rate. I think I could use something stronger than tea, right now.”

"Help yourself. I’m sure you remember your way around the liquor cabinet."

 

~xox~

 

Celeste sat on the side of the tub, pushing the plug into the drain. Her host had been kind enough to leave everything she would need at her disposal. With a twist of her wrist she turned the hot water on first. Once steam began to fill the air, she turned the cold on, to find the perfect balance. As the tub filled with warm water she noticed a bottle of oil. Roses, violets, jasmine and musk were listed as the ingredients for the perfume. Curious, she poured some of the liquid into her bath water. Inhaling deeply, the fragrance brought a tinge of comfort to her, like a long lost memory.  
  
Quickly, she stripped from her clothing and raised her foot. Carefully, she dipped her toe into the water, making sure the temperature was just right. Satisfied with it, she stepped over the edge and sunk into the soothing waters and alluring perfume.  
  
She laid her head back against the tub and stared up at the ceiling. Her husband’s smiling face appeared before her and the tears broke free. As her eyes began to blur, she rolled to her side and hugged the edge of the tub. Weeping, she clung to the porcelain basin she was submerged in.  
  
Her heart felt as though it were breaking into a million pieces. Fear gripped her, making it feel as though she could no longer breathe. If all that Khronos said was true and she was indeed dead. How cruel it was to be revived only to know she could no longer return home. That soon she would have to return to the nothingness she had been plucked from. Her mind was tortured with the possible truth, causing her to weep harder.  
  
“Please no. I can’t be dead. I want to wake up. Charles… I can’t leave you. I want to go home.”

 

~xox~

 

"Hey, are you listening?"

Khronos looked at the young blond, blinking. “Sorry, what was that?”

He could feel her despair…her anguish. It pained him because his own was so similar.

"I asked if ya want to take a shot with me," Ronald said with annoyance. "Death knows we could both use one."

The mortician nodded, not really into the spirit of it. He forced a smile. “Pour away, Mr. Knox.”

Inwardly, he couldn’t help but focus on the tragic being upstairs. He longed to comfort her, and while he knew his attraction to her was based on her similarities to Grell, he still felt like he was harboring unfaithful thoughts. “Hurry it up, Ronnie,” he pressed. “I’m a thirsty man.”

Anderson came into the parlor then, and he gave the Undertaker and his companion a quiet, reserved smile. “Shall we discuss the information I’ve found for you, my friend?”

Khronos plopped down on an armchair as Ronald handed him a shot glass. “Might as well get it over with. What did you find?”

"Not a thing," sighed Anderson. He pulled out a pipe and he began to load it with tobacco. "I’m sorry, Khronos. There should be records of the couple you spoke of, but someone got to them before me. The files have been removed. There is mention of a Charles and Celeste Grimm in the death lists, but—"

"So her husband’s dead too," reasoned Khronos softly, frowning.

"I’m afraid so." Anderson nodded and lit his pipe. He drew on it and blew out a puff. "I wish I could tell you the manner of their deaths, but that information has been stolen."

Undertaker nodded. “What if I told you I think Hypnos and Thanatos are behind it all?”

Lawrence raised a brow. “I would like to say it’s unlikely, though not impossible. Tell me more about Mr. Sutcliff, please. I’ve gone over his records from Dispatch, but you obviously have a more personal relationship with him.”

Undertaker started to oblige him, but then he remembered something important that he’d forgotten. He smacked his forehead without warning. “Oh, bloody hell. Can we put this on the back-burner for a moment, Lawrence? I need to use your telly to check in on someone.”

Looking mildly confused but wholly polite, the refined gentleman nodded. “Of course. Feel free.”

 

~xox~

 

"What do you mean, is Sebastian here? Of course he is not. He was supposed to stay with you until you retrieved the freak. If you have Grell, then he would have returned to me and he has not. So I can conclude that either the redheaded pervert has not been found or something has happened to my butler. Which in any case would be your fault for requesting him to assist you in whatever scheme you are up to."

Undertaker hissed softly in agitation. Damn. He could only presume that if the demon hadn’t made it back to his master, then Sebastian must have been vanquished or captured. “Sorry, little Earl. I underestimated my opponents. I’ll do my best to see your pet crow returned to you, but in the meantime, you’d best step up your security just in case.”

He didn’t give Ciel a chance to respond, guessing the boy would only shout more outraged questions at him that he did not have the answers to. Undertaker hung up the phone and frowned, tapping his nails absently against the wood of the slim table that the device rested on. He looked up when he felt another surge of heartbreak from somewhere above him, and he slumped.

"What shall I do, Grell? How do I get you back?"

There was only one option he could think of, given the lack of resources. He shuddered at the thought. He could try to operate on the cinematic records himself. He had the experience, of course. He was probably more skilled at it than anyone else he might turn to, but he hated the thought. Attempting to draw Celeste’s records from Grell would cause both of them substantial pain. If he left the ghost where she was, however, there was no telling how much permanent damage Grell might incur. Each moment she spent in his body opened up further risks to his overall psychological well-being…and Grell wasn’t exactly the most stable reaper as it was.

He felt like his heart was being ripped into pieces. Undertaker placed a hand over his breast and he took a shivering breath. If he was to save Grell, he might just have to hurt him.

"Oh, my dear," he whispered through a tight throat. "I’m so very sorry."

Moira entered the hall and softly descended the stairs. Her eyes fell on the morose man sitting on the little chair next to the little table, where the house phone sat.  
  
“I do not believe I have ever seen you so glum before. Tell me, what is truly going on? Why is there a mortal inhabiting that young Reaper’s body, and why do you look like you are about to die of a broken heart? Do you have feelings for the chit, or the body she inhabits?”  
  
Her eyes softened when he turned his head and looked up at her. She could see the anguish killing him deep inside. Saying nothing more, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed his head to her bosom. Sweetly, she placed a chaste kiss to the top of his head.  
  
“Shh… I understand…”

Khronos embraced her without thinking. He couldn’t recall the last time she’d offered him comfort, and the tears came unbidden. All the pent up frustration and pain broke free, and he choked. He’d shed a couple of tears since this began, surely, but now it was like a dam had burst.

"Grell," he managed, his strained voice muffled against her bosom. "They…they took my Grell. Like I told you; they put her into his body…not sure what they did with him, but all of this happened because of that quack Shinigami doctor going by the name of Wundt. Tried to protect him from that sadist…I honestly did…but…but I failed and now…I can’t remember half of the things that might…help me get him back!"

He hadn’t broken down like this in ages, and he suspected it was only because he was in the company of his honorary sister that he was able to cut loose so completely. He hugged her tighter, feeling lost.

"I know I’m an old fool," he sniffled, "and mayhap I was once a bit too free with my loving, but…I really do love my prissy lil’ rose. I want him back."

He tried to compose himself, blinking to clear the tears from his eyes as he tilted his head back and looked up at her. “What you walked in on in there…that was solace. For both of us. Believe it or not, I didn’t even initiate it, love. The lady’s confused and frightened, and I think I am too. She’s…she’s so much like him, you see…so much like my Grell. I just wanted…to reach him, somehow.”

Tenderly, she ran her hands down over his cheeks, wiping the strands of silver hair that clung to his face. Then just as tenderly her thumbs wiped the trails of tears before they stained his cheeks. With a warm and comforting smile affixed to her mouth, she whispered: “Have you forgotten so much of your past… that you cannot remember our history? Khronos… what does your gut say? Listen to it. Let it guide you. Do you honestly believe your lover is forever lost, or perhaps he is only imprisoned? Bend the bars, my precious old loon. Bend the bars.”  
  
Glancing to the stairs, Moira nodded. “I’ll attend her and get her something to wear. She needs to rest.”  
  
“Look to the past,” she said as she turned her attention back to the ancient in her arms. “Secrets. Remember the secrets. Find them and there I believe you will find what you seek.”  
  
Placing another kiss upon his brow, Moira gracefully withdrew from his arms and glided to the stairs. Before she started up the case, she glanced over her shoulder and reminded him of a long forgotten memory.  
  
“Remember the gift we were given so long ago? Our names were forged upon its pages when we were but children. Find the past my friend. Use it to fight for a future.”  
  
As the last of her words fell from her lips, Moira ascended the stairs and looked back no more. Her focus would be to make sure the young soul would be well rested. Frightened and alone, she must be. It was forbidden to place cinematic records of the dead in another living being. A torture of the mind. Cruel and inhumane. The reality would drive the tormented insane. Moira knew that Celeste, the young soul, needed comfort and plenty of rest. She could only hope that they could save both the imprisoned Shinigami and the stolen soul before it was to late.

Undertaker watched her go, his tears drying as he struggled to work out what she had said. Years of solitude had maddened him somewhat of course, but Atropos was right; the answers were there, locked somewhere in the past of his fractured mind. He put a hand to his brow and he tried to concentrate on what she’d said. Pages and secrets…a gift given to him and the other ancients…why couldn’t the bloody woman just say what she meant?

But no, that was not her way. He thought he understood what she was trying to do. She was making him think because in order to beat this, he was going to need every skill he had at his disposal. He needed to recall who he was and become that reaper again, for Grell’s sake.

Ronald came down the hallway and upon seeing him sitting there rubbing his bowed head, the blond stopped. “I don’t like that look on your face. What’s up?”

Khronos looked up at him, and he forced a wan smile that was nothing like the bright grins he usually sported. “I’m trying to have an epiphany, is all. Seems I might have some knowledge trapped in my old noggin that might help us bring your mentor back and put the Lady Grimm to rest, where she belongs.”

"Yeah?" Ronald perked up with interest. "Spill it, geezer. What’s the plan?"

The ancient sighed. “I have no idea, yet. I thought I might be able to draw her records from him, but that would be considerably painful for them both. Even if I try that, I’m still not sure what sort of old magic that reaper used to alter his body. I need to work that out, before I try to fool with those records.”

Ronald slumped. “So how do you know that you know what to do in the first place? Is there some kind of ritual you need to remember?”

Khronos’ pale brows furrowed. “I’m thinking it has to do with a book, but I can’t…”

He trailed off, getting a faint memory. Yes, there was a book. Moira had said their names were written in the pages of a gift. The book…the book of…

"The Book of the Dead!" He snapped his fingers, excited.

Ronald’s face screwed up. “I thought that was and Egyptian thing. What does that have to do with you?”

"It holds secrets that only us ancients were allowed to know," explained the Undertaker. He pushed his fingers through his hair and he pressed down on either side of his head, trying to squeeze the memory out. "Ah, if only I could…I feel as though it’s right there!"

There were spells…incantations and magical tricks involving the dead, the living, shape-changing and other things. He just couldn’t pinpoint it.

"Um, maybe you ought to ask Pops," suggested Ronald uncomfortably. "Instead of trying to squeeze your brains out through your ears, ya know? You said he’s an ancient like you, right? He might know."

"He’s nearly as out of touch with the past as I am," sighed Khronos. "Maybe not as bad as me, but we’ve both shed our old identities and taken on a different life. I could ask, but I think he’d have told me by now, if he had an inkling of what I need from it."

"Well, maybe he knows where to find it."

Undertaker’s brows shot up. “Actually, I think I might know.”

 

~xox~

 

"Good afternoon Lord Phantomhive."  
  
The child rolled over beneath his warm blankets and rubbed his eyes as he turned and faced the direction the voice came from. Puzzled as to who was in his bedroom, sleepily he asked, “Who goes there? How did you get into my bedroom? Sebas…”  
  
“Have you forgotten your mongrel is away on a mission? Tsk, tsk… my Lord.” The voice scolded. “It was unwise to assist the traitor. A foolish thing to send a demon into the affairs of the keepers of the dead. You would have been wise to keep your dog on his leash and not allow him to play with the other puppies. But alas, he no longer runs free. Therefore he can no longer interfere.”  
  
“What do you mean he no longer runs free? What have you done with my butler?” Ciel growled.  
  
“Nothing as of yet. Just put him in the pound so he can cause no more trouble. As for you though little lord. We have plans for you. I believe we would like to run some experiments. Do not be afraid they will not hurt… ” The cloaked figure grinned wickedly as his invisible finger trailed down the young boy’s cheek. The effect creating goosebumps over his small body. “At least not that much.”  
  
“Don’t touch me.” Ciel snapped as he swiped at the sensation on his face, only to be met with air instead.  
  
“I am afraid little Lord, you will be coming with me. If he wishes no harm to come to you…. he will return what belongs to us.”  
  
Growing irate and a tinge fearful, Ciel growled louder as he spoke. “I am not going with anyone…. Do you hear me?”  
  
Before any more protests could occur the figure revealed himself to the teenage boy. The afternoon sun shone on his midnight blue, waist-length hair. His bangs were slicked back, matching the length of his hair. Dual-toned green eyes glared down at the young mortal, through a pair narrow wire rimmed glasses. The color of the frames were a matching midnight blue, and the lenses were tinted a lighter tone of the same color.  
  
Blinking, wide eyes peered up at the figure as he drew near. The afternoon breeze blew in from the open window behind him, rippling the fabric of the cloak the figure adorned and billowing his robe, black as coal. Ciel quivered in fear as the figure stopped before him and bent forward. His face changed. It was no longer human in appearance. The mask of death, a skull smiled at the youth. Terrified, Ciel screamed. Fingers made of bone wrapped around the boy’s arms.  
  
“No one will hear your screams, little Lord.”

 

~xox~

 

After mulling over it for hours, Undertaker finally dredged up the memory of where he’d last seen the book. Ronald had to leave for work, but he told the mortician to call him when he had some idea of what he wanted to do. Undertaker sat down with Anderson, leaving Moira to care for the Lady Celeste. He was simply too embarrassed over his lapse to face her just yet, and he knew she would have more questions that he could not answer. At least, not yet.

"Valley of the Kings," said Undertaker with a nod. "That’s where the book should be. We packed it away in there, you and I. Do you remember?"

Anderson sipped his brandy and puffed his pipe. “I have a vague recollection. Khronos, do you still believe that our former brethren are behind this?” He wouldn’t refer to them as current, due to their dubious status and the fact that they had both performed heinous acts before vanishing.

"The reaper on that ship had abilities that could only belong to an ancient," insisted the Undertaker, "and some of them matched Thanatos’ powers. If you think of the things Wundt was doing to Grell and how they snuck him out on me, it could easily be the work of Hypnos. I don’t know yet if he’s Wundt, but he’s at least got to be working for the little slug."

"But to what end?" Questioned Lawrence. He reloaded his pipe, glancing at the Undertaker as he did so. "Just for the sake of amusement?"

"Isn’t that why they ever did anything, once they got bored with their duties?"

Anderson smirked. “One could accuse you of the same, old friend.”

"Oh now, I never did anything this bad," protested Undertaker.

"I’m sorry. I know how much you want to restore your lover and I can see how much this pains you, but how can you be certain the book is still where we put it? I can barely even remember where we hid it, and you’re talking about rushing off to Egypt to go tomb-raiding. Meanwhile we have a young lady upstairs in a displaced body, and your Grell stands to lose more than his life. Why not build on what you already know? You’ve altered cinematic records before."

"But the way I do it isn’t the same as what that fellow did to Grell and Celeste," insisted Khronos. He downed his brandy and offered the empty glass to Lawrence as the stately gentleman got up to offer a refill. "I can’t make a mistake, Moros. I could destroy them both, if I do."

Anderson nodded, refilling the suffering ancient’s glass and handing it over to him, before re-taking his seat in the high-backed armchair across from him. “I understand your dilemma. But consider this: if you are correct about the identity of the people behind this, isn’t it possible that they’ve already procured the book for themselves?”

"There’s only two reapers living that know where it is," reminded Khronos. "You and me. Our memories may be rusty, but we can find it with a bit of reflection. Not even your sister knows. Those buggars might have the general idea since humans have uncovered some of the secrets, but the most they could hope to get their hands on is the fake. That’s still in a museum, I think."

Anderson nodded. “It is. What do you propose we—”

The phone rang, interrupting his sentence. Anderson checked the clock with a frown. Fortunately he kept a phone in the very study they were sitting in, as well as in the hall. “Who could be ringing at this hour?”

"Could be Ronnie," muttered Khronos thoughtfully. "He said he’d contact me on the bell if he had anything useful for me."

Anderson got out of his chair and he went to the side-table against the wall to answer it. “Anderson, speaking. Oh?” He looked at Khronos with a frown. “I’ll put him on the line. One moment, Mr. Knox.”

Undertaker got out of his chair and went to the phone, taking it out of his friend’s offering hand. “Hullo, Mustard Seed. Anything interesting to share?”

Ronald’s voice was tense. “I don’t want to talk about it here, just in case. I’ll meet you over there in a half hour, okay?”

The mortician frowned, but he understood why Ronald would be wary of discussing anything about this on his phone or a company phone, despite Lawrence’s protective spells of communication. “All right, lad. We’ll see you in a while.”

He hung up with the young agent, and he looked at Lawrence. “Seems Ronnie has something for me. He wouldn’t say what, over the phone.”

"That was probably a wise choice." Lawrence inclined his head. "Sit down, Khronos. Finish your drink and talk with me for a while. We need to decide how we are going to do this, if you insist on this course of action."

With a sigh and a glance at the ceiling, Undertaker did as his friend suggested and picked up his brandy again. His thoughts were on both Celeste and Grell, and he couldn’t even bring himself to fake a smile.

 

~xox~

 

The soft sound of whimpering stirred the ancient reaper from her slumber. The night had been long and none of the occupants of the Anderson home had gotten to bed until dawn. And more than likely two reapers had slept not at all. She slowly blinked, and her eyes gradually tried to open. The afternoon sun sat high in the sky. Though the drapes were drawn, the sun still penetrated the room with warmth. She groaned from being woken by a sound she was unaccustomed to. Her hand reached out to touch her bed companion only to discover Celeste missing.  
  
Moira forced her eyes open, shocked to find her hand had not lied. Next to her, the bed was empty. Sitting up, her heart racing, Moira glanced around the room. She could hear the young lady’s soft cry, but her vision was too blurry, and could not locate Celeste’s head of gold.  
  
Worried, Moira threw back the covers and stood up. Grabbing her glasses from the nightstand, she slipped them on and called to the woman. But there was no reply, just sounds of frightened weeping.  
  
Listening closely, Moira followed the whimpers. She checked her closet and then the hall. The sound of crying was definitely coming from her bedroom. On a hunch, she got down on her hands and knees. Under her bed lay Celeste, curled up in a ball. Strands of gold hair were lying all around her. Blood stained her fingertips and the nightgown Moira had loaned her for the night.  
  
“Oh Heavens Child, what have you done?!” She exclaimed.  
  
“Khronos?!” Moira shouted as her feet padded down the staircase. Knowing her brother and the other would be still talking in the kitchen, she ran down the hall and down the stairs. Her braid of long black hair wagged behind her.

Undertaker looked up from the cup of coffee he was drinking when he heard Atropos call his original name. He frowned at the concerned look on her delicate features when she came into sight. “What’s the trouble, love?”

His heart skipped a beat as his sharp ears picked up the faint sound of crying from somewhere upstairs. He hadn’t noticed before, he was so intent on making his plans. He put the mug on the counter and without waiting for an explanation, he charged past the female reaper, nearly bowling her over in his haste. He took the stairs two at a time, narrowly avoiding tripping himself up on his own flowing garments.

"Celeste?" He moved down the corridor like a wraith, his already pale features bleaching even further with dread. He followed the noise into the very bedroom he’d nearly shagged the displaced woman in. "Where are you, my dear? Are you hurt? Did you—"

He stopped at the bed when he spotted a lock of blond hair lying curled up on the floor. Frowning, he knelt down to examine it…and that was when he saw her. She’d ripped out chunks of her hair, and her scalp was bleeding in places from the self-abuse. An odd mixture of pity and anger overwhelmed him, curdling the mixture of alcohol and coffee in his stomach and making him feel nauseous.

"Here now, don’t do that," he said as gently as possible, reaching out to lay a hand over her quivering shoulder. "Your hair isn’t to blame for your situation. Come here, darlin’."

Lawrence entered the room, his refined features lined with worry as he quietly watched the situation.

"White… too bright. Hurts. stop… stop. Good. No. No… please. Hurts. To much. Need red. Not enough red. White. No. Go away. Will? Stop. Help. Don’t leave me. White…" Celeste babbled incoherently as she was gently pulled from under the bed. Tears mixed with blood smeared across the hard wood floor of Moira’s bedroom.  
  
“Khronos, what’s she talking about?” Moira asked, deeply concerned as she knelt down next to the retired reaper.  
  
In her hands was a fleece blanket. Carefully, she wrapped it around Celeste’s trembling body as Khronos held her tightly in his arms. In the fashion of a mother, she reached out and touched the young woman’s cheek.  
  
“She’s gone mad. Nothing she speaks of makes sense.” Moira turned her eyes on her kinsmen. “Khronos…?”

The mortician’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t immediately answer. “Celeste? No…Grell?”

He listened carefully to the confused cries of the woman in his arms, and he looked up at Lawrence. “She’s stuck in dreaming. It’s not her dream, either.” He recalled what little Grell had been able to tell him about his time in the psychiatric ward and their reasons for committing him. “I think…she’s sharing Grell’s memories. Wundt did something to him while he was under his ‘care’. Now Celeste’s records are twisted up with his and I’m fairly sure she’s reliving some of it.”

He looked between the two siblings, stroking Celeste’s ravaged hair in an attempt to sooth both her and the reaper trapped inside of her. “Do you both still think Hypnos had nothing to do with this? My memory may be worse for the wear, but I haven’t forgotten the things he got up to in the day.”

Moira glanced at her brother, then back to Khronos. Her expression was one of confusion and fear. “If Hypnos has returned, why? What does he want with this Reaper? Is there something different about this Grell? Hypnos had a thing for toying with mortals. He never played with his own kind. And he was suppose to have been killed by a demon centuries ago.”  
  
A soft whimper brought Moira’s attention back to the blonde. Her brows furrowed as she listened to the mixed bag of words falling from the woman’s lips.  
  
“Khronos… we have to get those records out of her. We can’t delay. I fear this is going to damage the reaper she is trapped inside.” She looked the retired reaper in the face. Apprehensively, she spoke. “You are going to have to extract the records. I know you can do it. I heard about your experiments. You can find the book once you separate them.”  
  
Tenderly, Moira wiped a tear from Celeste’s eye. “She needs to rest once and for all and I don’t think she could survive seeing her body change first. Remove the girl and then find the book and make Grell whole again.”

Undertaker went—if possible—paler than usual. He started to shake his head, but another babble of Grell’s twisted memories came from the woman trapped in his body, and he swallowed. Lawrence reached out to lay a hand on the mortician’s tense shoulder supportively.

"I believe Moira is correct, my friend. I can bring you the tools you need, if you no longer have them at your disposal. We can’t leave this to go on for much longer. You could stand to lose both of them, if we do."

Khronos shuddered softly, struggling with emotions he’d cast away long ago. “If I make a mistake…”

"You won’t," insisted Lawrence.

The silver reaper looked up at him. “And how can you be so sure of that?”

Lawrence looked at the suffering figure in his friend’s arms. “Because you love him, and you at least feel compassion for her. You have better reason now more than ever to do your work to perfection. Have faith in yourself. We will do what we can to help you.”

"Khronos?" Celeste spoke feebly. Her eyes red, looked up at the man holding her. Her body began to shake as it went into shock.  
  
“Was that Grell or Celeste?” Moira asked in a whisper to the silver-haired reaper at her side.

"Celeste," answered the Undertaker shortly, more worried about the body in his arms and the medical repercussions of what was happening to it than explaining the complexities of the situation. He lifted the woman in his arms and stood up to lay her on the bed. This cinched it; he couldn’t wait any longer. Further hesitation would probably cause more damage than he could ever do.

"Right…Atropos my dear, I’ll need you to hold her steady…and don’t glare at me like that…I can’t bloody-well be expected to worry about little things like names at a time like this! Moros, you said that you have the tools I’ll need. Go and get them."

To the tortured figure on the bed, he spoke in a more gentle voice—though he feared neither his lover nor Celeste could hear him, right now. “Both of you hold on. Be brave. I’ll not let this destroy either of you, if I can help it. Cling to what you know, what you love, and try not to fight one another as I do this. You depend on each other right now as much as you depend on me to survive this. If you can hear me, please do as I ask, my dears. Grell, I’m right here. Celeste, I promise to reunite you with your husband, if I can.”

He kissed the woman’s twitching hand and he looked to Moira, nodding. He straightened up and took a slow, steadying breath.

"Khronos?" Celeste’s tender voice began to resonate with a tad more strength as she spoke, her shakes interfering only occasionally. "Wha… what’s happen…ing to me? I was in-in another room. Br-bright lights and mirrors. I’m scared. Some… someone was t-touching me. I didn’t recog…nize him. He sm-amelled like vanilla and straw…berries."  
  
Something in the way he looked at her made her pause. Stricken with a surge of fear, she grabbed his arm. “Why are-are you look…ing at me like that? What…what is going on? Do you-you know who I was… with?”  
  
Tears spilled from her eyes as her voice started to crack. “If yo-you know tell me. He….” She closed her eyes, a clear picture forming in her head. “I was strapped to… No.”  
  
Celeste’s body shook harder as she curled into a ball. Her hands clutched her middle. “Why is he hur-hurting me? I feel-feel the blood. M-make it stop.”

Undertaker’s vision blurred as he listened to her account of what she’d seen and felt. Tears, rage…they seemed to be working as a team to impede his sight. Somehow, he managed to swallow the sick fury welling up and he forced a smile, squeezing her hand comfortingly.

"It’s going to be all right, love. I’m going to take care of you."

Anderson came back in, carrying a green death bookmark. “Here you are, Khronos.”

The silver reaper made a face at the color, but then shrugged. “No accounting for taste.”

He looked down at Celeste, his expression softening once more. “I need you to relax, darlin’. You’ve got to trust me, if you want to survive.”

"We will leave you for a moment to say your goodbyes. Say two minutes?" Moira raised her brow as she stood from the bed and straightened her spine and strode form the room, dragging her brother with her.  
  
“Goodbyes?” Celeste asked frantically. Her head popping up to look at the reaper she had kissed. “What does sh-she mean? Wha…what are you going to-to do to me? Khronos, I d-don’t understand. Am… am I g-going to die? What did I… see? Too much.”  
  
Her eyes shut as she clung to Khronos’ hand. “Don’t wanna die.”

"Perhaps three," suggested Lawrence in a soft whisper as he joined Moira and left the room.

Undertaker paid no attention to his associates. He somehow managed a smile for the frightened woman on the bed, and he tried to think of a way to explain it to her that would be comforting. “Celeste…my dear…you are already dead. So is your husband. Death is far from the end, though. You are blessed with eternal life after death, and by clinging to your mortal life you can only harm yourself.”

He took another steadying breath, recalling the reaper he once used to be; the one that could soothe crying children and charm them into his arms for collection upon their deaths. “I can’t pretend to know what exactly will await you on the other side, but I do know that it’s a far cry better than the suffering you’ve endured lately. Your mortal life is over, but your afterlife is a new start. Think of all the loved ones you’ve lost and missed, Celeste. They’ll be there, waiting for you. As a reaper of souls, I can promise you that. Look into my eyes if you doubt me. I’ve never lied to the dead, love. I’ve spent so many years with them as my only company that I…I honestly don’t think I know how to lie to them.”

"I want… Papa. Go home. Take m-me… please? Let me say… say goodbye." Celeste pleaded as she slowly opened her tear filled eyes.  
  
One last time to see her family. One last time to say goodbye. To tell them that she loved them and that she would always be with them. She knew in her heart she was already dead, but a soul was not as easily convinced. Her instinct was to survive and she longed to fight the inevitable.  
  
Blue eyes gazed into the mortician’s. Again she was in awe over the strange colouring of his. She touched his cheek with a shaky hand. “I’m so-sorry for hitting y-you.”  
  
Taking a deep breath She asked, “What will you do to me? Where will I go?”

Khronos felt like his heart was breaking into a million shards. He came to realize in that moment that he’d truly come to love this woman, though not as much as he loved Grell. Rather than curse the fates for putting him in this situation, he opted to do perhaps the only truly heroic thing he could for her. The mad old mortician left him completely in that moment, and he was once again Khronos…Father of time…Death.

"I’ll take you to your family, Celeste. It must be brief, but I can at least do this much for you, before I guide you into the afterlife." He gathered her into his arms, and he smiled down at her. "And no need to apologize for hitting me. I probably deserved it."

Lawrence came walking in with Moira, just as the silver death god lowered his mouth to Celeste’s for a gentle kiss. His body became aglow with a pulse of pure, white light, and the nimbus expanded and surrounded Khronos and his passenger. Seeing this, Lawrence dropped his pipe and started to reach out for him.

"Khronos…what are you doing? You know that you have no time to—"

The silver ancient looked up with renewed purpose in his eyes, his gaze meeting his friend’s across the short distance. “I can make time,” he murmured. “Time enough to keep a small promise to a lady.”

And then he and Celeste were both gone in a flash of light.

Moira’s hands covered her mouth as a loud gasp passed over her lips. She stared in disbelief as the two beings vanished from her room.  
  
“He’s insane,” she mumbled as she stepped up next to her brother. “What is he thinking? Where is he going? Lawrence, he isn’t taking the girl back to….”

"I believe he is," said Anderson in a mystified tone—and it wasn’t quite clear whether he was speaking of their companion’s sanity or confirming his current intentions. He took a steadying breath himself and he patted his sister comfortingly on the shoulder. "He seems to be coming back to himself, though. We must trust him. If anyone can manage time in a situation such as this, it’s Khronos."

 

~xox~

 

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

Khronos stepped down on a well-tended lawn. It was still early morning, of course, and he began to carry his burden up the winding path to the estate on the hill.

"We’re almost there, love," he murmured to the girl in his arms. "Be aware I may need to repel your loved ones from me, if they attempt to take you from me. I’m doing this because…because I feel I owe at least this much to you. Will you cooperate after this and work with me?"

Nodding, Celeste whispered, “Yes. I won’t fight what-whatever it is you need to do. If y-you promise… to stay with me.”

“What shall we s-say happened to me? I’m covered in bl-blood.” She asked as she looked at the gown she was wearing and at the locks of blonde hair sticking to her arms. “Wh-what did I do…do to myself?”

"Don’t fret, love," soothed the reaper. "You were distraught. It’s easy enough to give the excuse that you were attacked and looted by brigands. It’s a common occurrence in the world today, and I won’t say anything you don’t want me to."

He turned his pale face down to look at her, and he sighed. “And yes, I’ll stay with you. I’ll see you reunited with your man. I never wished you any harm, my dear. Just remember we can’t linger.”

"The air. It-it makes my head… sting." She whispered as she buried her face against his shoulder.  
  
The stone mansion came into view. A place from another time when knights wore armor and ladies fair hands were won by jousting matches. The Dukedom was just as old. The grounds were manicured and kept. There was the sound of birds chirping merrily as they approached the grand entryway. Not a single cobweb appeared on the front entrance. Two statues of tigers sat on either side of the door, as if to guard the grand manor.  
  
Before Undertaker could lay one knock upon the black, wooden panels of the main doors to the mansion, it swung open to reveal an older gentleman, clad in a servant’s tailcoat. He was tall and slender with graying hair. The pin upon his breast signified him as the head butler of the Whitmore home.  
  
“Lady Celeste, what are you… What has happened?” He asked, appalled at the state of her appearance.

He looked to the stranger carrying her, stepping aside to allow them entrance. “Please come in. You may lay her down in the salon. I shall fetch her parents and send for the doctor.”  
  
Grayson, the estate butler, had been with the Whitmore’s for more than four decades. He had never seen any member of the family in such a state. While he was suspicious of the strange man carrying the young woman, he knew it was not his place to say a word. Instead he turned on his heel and began to lead them to the nearest salon.

Undertaker followed wordlessly. His emotional state was in turmoil. He could just imagine the reaming he’d get when he returned to their place of origin, but he couldn’t simply let this go and ignore her simple request. He did not lay her down on the couch when they arrived at the salon, as he needed to stay in contact with her for his subtle time manipulation to keep her in synch with him. Right now, the two of them were in an altered state of being; operating outside the normal chronological strain. If he were to separate with her, the clock would resume winding down and her condition would worsen. He couldn’t afford to allow that to happen.

"Thanks, I’ll stand," he said to the butler when the man gestured at the lounge, "and I’ll keep the lady safe in my arms."

When the old man frowned at him, Khronos shook his bangs out of his eyes and stared at him, allowing him to see the strangeness and agelessness of them. The man paled. Khronos was no longer masking himself; allowing for mortals to sense what he truly was. “Better hurry, old man,” he suggested. “Her time here is limited. Fetch her parents.”

Turning on his heel, Grayson nearly tripped over his own feet as he made a mad dash for the door. Very unbecoming of a butler of his stature, but the stranger had unsettled him. The fellow was odd and his eyes were unhinging. Grayson had never laid witness to such a pair of eyes before. They almost appeared to glow as the stranger revealed them to him.  
  
As the poor frightened butler headed for the stairs he nearly ran down one of the parlor maids as she stepped into the main all from the kitchens. She yelped in response as the family butler collided with her. Grayson apologized a thousand times as he untangled their bodies and continued on his way up the grand staircase of Whitmore manor.  
  
He first sought out Celeste’s father in his Study. “Sir, there is an emergency. You need to follow me to the guest salon down stairs. We must fetch the Mistress as well.” Grayson calmly explained as he stood before the lord of the house. He cleared his throat nervously and tugged on his tailcoat.

The lord of the manor stood up, a puzzled frown on his lined face. His collar-length, wavy blond hair was streaked with gray and his eyes were the same shade of blue as his daughter’s. Knowing that his butler wouldn’t be so urgent without good cause, he didn’t question him. He followed him down to the salon and when he saw his bloodstained daughter in the arms of a tall stranger with silver hair, he went pale and immediately rushed to her side.

"Celeste," he said in a quivering voice. "What in heavens…"

He turned to look at Grayson. “Fetch my wife, immediately! Call Dr. Norris, too!”

As the butler hastened to comply, the noble reached out to touch his daughter’s chilled forehead. “Celeste, darling…can you hear me?” He hardly paid attention to the man holding her; his thoughts were only on his daughter.

"Right away, Sir." Grayson excused himself to find the Mistress.  
  
Hearing her father’s voice, Celeste turned her head and looked up at him as he stood next to her and the man holding her. Weakly and with tears in her eyes, she replied.  
  
“Daddy? Is it really you? I’ve missed you so much. And don’t be frightened or upset. You must be wondering who brought me here to say goodbye. This is Khronos. He found me and brought me home. Khronos… this is my father James Whitmore.”  
  
Gently she smiled up at both men as she introduced them. She would have loved to have them shake hands, but as she was currently resting in the arms of the silver-haired fiend who had brought her there, they could not. And she desperately longed to sit in her father’s lap one more time, as he had held her as a child.  
  
“Khronos, will you allow my father to hold me for a minute or so? Please… just for a minute?” She pleaded sweetly as a lady would. Slowly she raised a hand to his cheek and repeated, “Please?”

"I…can’t," he said with no small regret. "If I relinquish my hold on you, the spell that brought us here will unravel for you and displace you from this moment in time. You can embrace him and hold his hand as much as you like, but I can’t give you over to him or anyone else here."

The reaper looked at Lord Whitmore as the noble stared at him with suspicion and confusion, allowing him to see the same thing that the butler had seen. “This reunion can’t last for long, I’m afraid. Your daughter hasn’t responded to your letters because the dead can’t write, you see.”

James paled even further, and his mustache quivered. “Who are you? Is this some sort of depraved joke?” He looked at his daughter. “She…she is right here before me! She clearly isn’t dead, but if she doesn’t see a doctor—”

"A doctor can’t help her now," interrupted Khronos, "and neither can you. I brought her here to honor her final request, Lord Whitmore. You can sense the truth of it, I’m sure. Don’t stand here arguing with me and let this opportunity go to waste."

"Celeste?" A woman’s voice called as the door to the salon swung open. She was elegant and as beautiful as her daughter though her hair was still brown, a single streak of gray ran down the right side of her tightly wound braid atop her head.  
  
Elenore Whitmore stood in stunned silence as her eyes fell on her daughter. Saying nothing more, she ran to her child’s side and took her hand into her own. Tears sprang forth and rushed down her cheeks as fear gripped her heart.  
  
“What happened? My darling little girl… no. Who did this? What is going on? I don’t understand.” Frantic and desperate, Elenore laid her head against her daughter’s. “Celeste…no, not my Celeste. Where is Charles?”  
  
“Mama…” Celeste sniffled as she touched her cheek. “I do not know where he is. Something dreadful has happened and I know not what. I had to see you one last time. You and Daddy. I love you so very much. I don’t want to leave you.”  
  
Looking wide-eyed down at her daughter, Elanore made a demand. “What do you mean, ‘leave’? You are not leaving. You’re home. The doctor-“

"As I said to your husband, my lady," corrected Undertaker, "a doctor can’t save her. At this moment, I’m preventing her condition from worsening but it can’t last. She wanted to say goodbye to her family before I ferry her to the other side, and I chose to honor that request."

He’d reverted back to old speech patterns, using terms that the humans could understand better. It felt a bit surreal to him, playing the role of Death once more…and he was breaking so many rules by revealing his nature to these mortals.

Lord Whitmore’s expression darkened. “Who is responsible for this?”

"A man you cannot touch," answered the reaper, "but there are others who can, and he’s going to be dealt with…I promise."

The noble took his daughter’s free hand and held it, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “And you expect us to just allow you to take our daughter…whoever and whatever you are?”

"You have no choice," reminded Khronos, "and neither do I. Even if I could leave her here to linger and die in your home, I wouldn’t. Doing so would cause irreparable damage not only to her soul, but to another’s whose fate is tied up with her’s. Believe me, she’s better off in my care."

Elanore continued to look down at her daughter. Tears accumulated in the corners of her eyes, causing her vision to grow blurry. Her lip quivered as she touched Celeste’s cheek. Her other hand still held tightly to the blonde’s hand and she held it fast to her aching chest. The Undertaker’s words piercing her rapidly beating heart.  
  
“Who are you that I should trust you with my daughter’s soul?” Elanore looked up at the man holding her daughter. A man of mystery, and yet he was familiar to her. “Have I met you before? Do we know that you speak the truth to us? This is my child. I brought her into this world. I gave her life. I refuse to release her into Death’s hands… so that he can take her from me.”  
  
She shook her head, the stubbornness of a mother taking root. “Leave her with me. Let me seek help for her.” The tears broke free and began to slither down her cheeks leaving trails in their wake.  
  
“Mama…” Celeste whispered. “Khronos has shown no-nothing but kindness to me. Some… someone awful took me from Charles and in doing so… took Khronos’ love from him.”  
  
Celeste slipped her hand from her father’s grasp and while she still held her mother’s hand with the other, she reached up and touched the reaper’s face. A weak smile painted her lips. “I’m afraid, but letting go…go I can see Charles again and Khronos will get Grell back. He was kind enough to let m-me say goodbye.”

Undertaker closed his eyes, fighting his own angst over the situation. “Madam, I assure you that there will be nothing left of your daughter to save, if I don’t act.” He opened his eyes and gazed at her levelly, willing her to understand. “Would you selfishly condemn her soul to destruction just so you can be with her as she dies? Our time is short, and we’ve already lingered here too long for the sake of farewells.”

It was brutal, but he had no time to pander to the irrational demands of grieving parents. For Celeste’s sake and for Grell’s, he had to be firm…had to be the death god he once was. He gently shifted his burden in his arms again, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible and not jar her. Lord Whitmore looked at his daughter with aching eyes, then back up at Khronos. He gently took his wife by the waist to lead her away.

"Let them go, dear."

"NO!" Elanore hollered as she broke free of her husband’s grasp and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her daughter as best she could. Her eyes closed, fighting the tears that gushed from her reddened and swollen eyes. Her face pressed to Celeste’s chest.  
  
“Mama… I love you.” Whispered Celeste.  
  
“I love you too, my Little Luna.” Elanore replied as she lifted her head and looked her daughter in the eyes.  
  
Painfully Celeste cried, tears streaming down her cheek. “Let me go. I… I will be with y-you always… Mama.”  
  
Elanore glanced at the stranger and then back to her daughter. Heart tearing apart in her chest, she nodded as more tears broke free. Tenderly, she pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead and kissed her one last time. Squeezing her eyes shut, Celeste clung to the moment.  
  
 _~Goodbye Mama.~_  
  
Undertaker began to step back, Celeste slipping from her hands. Elanore stood watching as they began to fade away. Impulsively she started after them when a hand slipped around her waist stopping her.  
  
“Celeste!” She screamed as they disappeared, collapsing in her husband’s arms.

 

* * *

 

Lawrence jumped up from his seat on the lounge when Khronos re-appeared with Celeste in his arms. “Thank Styx,” breathed the glasses supervisor. “We weren’t sure but…did you…manipulate time, Khronos?” Beside him on the lounge chase, his sister perked up, woken from her doze.

"I did," answered the silver reaper. He looked down at the woman he carried. "We need to do this now. I may need the two of you to anchor me while I work. The cinematic records have been twisted and they’re likely to be aggressive when I access them."

Anderson glanced at Moira, and he nodded. “You have our support, old friend. We should probably get the young lady back to the bedroom and make her as comfortable as possible.”

Khronos looked down at the delicate swan in his arms, regret twisting his heart that he could do no more for her than this. “Yes, this must be as easy on her as possible.”

He carried her tenderly, like a treasure he was reluctant to part with. He stood to lose both inhabitants of this altered body if he didn’t do his job well. He forced a smile for her benefit as he looked down at Celeste.

"Stay brave and strong, little dove," he whispered. "I’ll be right here and I promise that one way or another, I’ll find you save passage and reunite you with your Charles."

"Khronos? Is it go-going to hurt?" Celeste asked as she touched his cheek. Her fingers trembled as they feathered across his ancient flesh. "I trust you… but I… I’m so frightened."

"I won’t lie to you, my dear," he answered softly, "There will be some pain at first, because you’re going to see the events of your life, and you may see memories that you’d rather leave buried…but if you work with me instead of fighting me, it will go easier. I promise to be as gentle as I can. I only wish I could say the same thing to Grell and be sure he could hear and understand me. If you can sense him inside of you at all, please try to convey what I just told you. It will be so much easier on both of you, if he knows what’s going to happen."

Celeste nodded as she felt the bed meet her back. She held tightly to his hand and looked up at him. Anguish clouded her eyes as she took a deep breath and spoke once more. “I will tr-try.” She shook her head as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “I won’t forget you. And… and I am so-so sorry for how I treated you. Please for… forgive me. Thank you for let…letting me say goodbye to my parents.”  
  
Moira quietly walked up to Khronos and placed a hand delicately upon his shoulder. In a soft, motherly tone she said: “It is time, my dear. Time to release them both and allow her to move on. Time to get the one you love back and punish those who have transgressed against the laws of time and nature.”

Khronos nodded and bowed his head. “Yes…time.”

He sighed and called his scythe. It appeared in his free hand, and he kept holding onto Celeste’s for comfort and support as he looked down at her and prepared to make the cut. He only needed a small one to draw out the records and begin, but it pained him to think of cutting into her skin—Grell’s skin.

"Whatever you do," he whispered to the ailing woman in the bed, "hold fast to me. Let me be your anchor, as my brethren will be mine. I won’t let either of us fall, my dear…you just have to trust me. Are you ready?"

Celeste turned to Khronos, sobs racking her body as her tears increased. Her bottom lip trembled and she held fast to his hand. “I know… know I have to say goodbye… but I d-don’t want to.”  
  
Moira walked to the other side of the bed and sat down next to the blonde. She reached out and touched Celeste’s brow. Slowly her fingers passed over her pale skin, wiping away the strand of hair that stuck to her bloodied cheek. A tear snuck from the corner of her eye.  
  
“Codladh. Codladh leanbh. Tóg do chodladh síoraí agus teacht ar do chroí arís. Ar an taobh eile. Fanann sé. Lig do hearts a chéile arís do gach am. Ná bíodh eagla oraibh.” Moira whispered.  
  
Celeste looked up puzzled. The ancient language was unfamiliar to her. Moira smiled warmly down at her as she answered the unspoken question in her eyes. “Gaelic. It was my chosen tongue. It means… Sleep. Sleep child. Take your eternal sleep and find your heart once more. On the other side. He waits. Let your hearts be reunited for all time. Be not afraid.”

Undertaker smiled down at the ailing blond, nodding. “It’s not the end, my dear. It’s merely a transition…one you were meant to take before all this happened. Aion olla vierelläsi, ja rakkaimman odottavat sinua, kun rajan yli.”

When Celeste looked at him blankly and Anderson gave him an impatient look, the mortician shrugged. “Finnish. It means ‘I will be right by your side, and your beloved will be waiting for you when you cross over.’ At least, I think that’s right. It’s been quite a spell since I last spoke my chosen tongue.”

He looked at Moira when she sighed. “What? You can show off, but I can’t?” He leaned over Celeste and whispered: “Call it sibling rivalry—even though she and I aren’t really siblings. Might as well be, though. The sentiment was real even if my Finnish is a bit rusty, however.”

"I think we’ve confused the young lady quite enough, speaking in languages she doesn’t know," admonished Lawrence.

Celeste smiled weakly up at Lawrence and then looked at Moira before turning back to Khronos. “Thank y-you all.” She whispered. “I’m ready. Good…goodbye, Khronos.”

He swallowed and stroked her blood-matted hair, sobering. Laughter only went so far, when his heart ached this badly. “Goodbye, sweet Celeste.” He bent over and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I won’t be forgetting you, little swan.”

Taking a deep breath, he readied his scythe to make the smallest cut possible and he held her hand supportively as he gently pressed the tip into the outside of her bicep. It was little more than a nick—half an inch wide and shallow enough to draw blood without cutting deeper than the skin. The records began to pour out, but not from the cut as he expected. Instead, they came out from her ears, her nose, and her mouth.

"Bleedin’ hell," he gasped, the cockney accent coming full-force as the screams of both his lover and Celeste seemed to erupt all around him. The cinematic records whipped about in a frenzy.

"He stuffed them all into her mind," he shouted over the torrent, trying to sort out which ones belonged to Grell and which to Celeste. "Reckless…foolish bastard! No bloody wonder she was loosin’ her noggin!"

"Look out!" Cried Anderson as several of them came at his sister. He knocked her to the floor and he looked up from their prone position in horror as the glowing, flickering strands began to swirl around the Undertaker. "Khronos! They’re too wild! You have to stop!"

"No," growled the mortician through clenched teeth, a death’s grin frozen on his pallid lips. He held fast to Celeste’s hand and he began to sift through the records, even when some of them curled around his forearm. One tried to enter his mouth and he dropped his scythe to catch it.

"Afraid not, little filmstrip. Inside this old, scarred body isn’t where you belong!"

He examined it and found that it belonged to Grell. He nearly faltered, for it showed a memory of the redhead making love with him. “Not…giving you…up,” he gasped. He wove the record back into the body it belonged to with determination, and he reached down—fighting the strands that had wound around his arm—to free a locket from his belt. It was an empty one—meant for Celeste’s records. He flipped it open and he began to gather and weave her strands, guiding them into it through sheer force of will alone.

"Help me, both of you," he begged—and he wasn’t speaking to the other ancients in the room. "Grell…Celeste…work with me, loves!"

Moira’s head popped up from the floor. Her mouth hanging wide open as she stared in awe of the records flying about the tiny room. Quickly, she grabbed Celeste’s and Grell’s hand. Squeezing her eyes shut, she began to sing. Her voice seemed to divide into three chords as though three women were singing harmoniously. The records slowed and appeared to separate. Their fury and aggression gone. Silently, they hung in the air above Grell’s body. Flashes of light flickered as both records played simultaneously. The sounds of laughter and pain, fear and sorrow filled the room as their lives displayed all around the three reapers.  
  
A scene of Grell danced before the Undertaker’s eyes. He was young and just starting at the dispatch as a brand new graduate and full-fledged reaper. His hair was just as red, but cut short. He appeared nervous as he rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor of the building. Yet as the doors of the lift opened, he put on an air of arrogance. Sticking his nose in the air, he strutted cock of the walk down the corridor to his new office.  
  
Before Anderson, Celeste’s reel displayed a tiny blonde child on the beach. She was around the age of three and the salty sea air was whipping through her blonde curls. A tall blond man stood next to her, holding her hand. It was her father and he was weaving some tale about mermaids as they walked along the shore collecting seashells in the sand. Giggles spilled from her young, innocent mouth.

Khronos watched it all with an ache in his chest that was unwise, for someone weaving the records. He was empathizing too much with them both. Anderson—otherwise known as Moros—did as promised and he anchored his old friend. The Undertaker was too connected to the beings he was trying to sort out, and it was only Moira’s singing that kept them from overwhelming him now.

"Let go of your emotions, Khronos," Lawrence reminded him, speaking more into his mind than out loud. "You’ll go to your doom, if you allow your sympathy to cloud your concentration! You know this. You’ve admonished your previous students for doing just what you are doing now! Focus on the task at hand, and leave off the emotional connections…just as you and I have always taught the younger generations to do."

The silver reaper took a shaken breath, focusing on the mental voice encouraging him. He’d lost so much of his former self, hiding away as he did for so long. It was humbling, to rely on those who once turned to him when the going got rough.

"Trying," he gritted out…and then a memory of the things that Wundt had done to his beloved redhead came up before his eyes, and his vision blurred with tears. "Grell. He took…everything you were and he…tried to mold it…turn you into his toy. Why?"

 

* * *

 

_The images showed Grell in a white cell. The two goons that always accompanied the doctor were grabbing him by the arms. He was kicking and screaming. Slowly they made their way to a door that led to another room. It was examining room. There was a table, common in doctor’s offices. His eyes grew wild when they approached the table. He thrashed violently, fearful of what was to come. He tried clawing the two reapers holding him, but as hard as he tried, they managed to keep a firm grip on him._   
  
_Forcefully they pushed Grell onto the table, quickly securing his arms with the wrist restraints that were attached to the sides of the examining table. The position forced his arms to bend upwards; his hands tethered at the sides of his head. His feet were secured in stirrups, bending his legs. He was currently in an upright and sitting position. Tears streamed down his cheeks and then another reaper walked in._   
  
_He wore a doctor’s coat and a clipboard was in his hands, along with an electric prodding device. His hair was black, like raven feathers. He was tall and slender, but strong in appearance. A rueful smile was painted on his lips. Grell screamed and struggled harder._   
  
_“Good day Erdbeere. How was your sleep? Well, I hope.” Wundt spoke as he approached the table and the squirming redhead. He reached out with his hand and touched Grell’s knee. “You know, I hadn’t expected you to be such a delightful creature. I originally sought to use you as an experiment, but you see I have come to desire you as something more. Now, I am not done with my research. No, not just yet… but I have to admit I think of you constantly when we are apart. The past four months I have grown quite fond of you.”_   
  
_Wundt’s hand slowly crept up Grell’s leg. Up and under the hospital gown he was wearing. One of Wundt’s assistants retrieved the items from his other hand and placed them on a side table, freeing both of the doctor’s appendages._   
  
_“Don’t… please don’t.” Grell pleaded as the tips of Wundt’s fingers brushed up against his member._   
  
_“Grell, my sweet Erdbeere. I am not going to hurt you. I just want to touch you. If you are good and behave today, I won’t you use the prod stick. Wouldn’t you like to cooperate and forgo the pain?”_   
  
_Grell turned his head and looked from the corner of his eye at the stick as it lay upon the table. Sweat formed on his brow and his heart jumped. His breathing quickened to match the speed of his racing heart._   
  
_“No… no please don’t hurt me.” He looked back at the doctor, crying. “Don’t use that. It burns when you use that.”_   
  
_Wundt smiled like a wolf eying his prey. “Then behave Erdbeere, and I won’t use it.”_   
  
_Roughly Wundt took a hold of Grell’s sex and squeezed, knocking the air from his lungs. Grell pinched his eyes shut and bit down on his bottom lip. His body jerked on its own accord. He tried to keep from screaming, but as Wundt’s hand began to slide up and down his shaft in attempt to arouse him, he failed and he screamed as loud as he could. Holden—the sandy blond goon—brought over a gag and secured it between the captive’s lips and around his head. Grell tossed his head back and forth as the red ball was placed between his lips._

 

* * *

 

Undertaker snarled with rage, nearly breaking at the replay of some of the worst things Wundt—no, Hypnos—had done to Grell. He didn’t even realize that he was shouting in protest, and suddenly Grell’s previous attempts to encourage him to use him made a horrid, new kind of sense to him. His vision blurred with helpless tears and he wished at that moment that he could shut off his emotions, as he once did. He was too deeply in love with Grell to do such a thing now, and the best he could do was use that to his advantage, to bolster his determination and fill him with new purpose.

"I swear to you, Grell," he gritted out between his teeth, "he’ll pay. Be it through my hand or yours, he’ll answer for this."

"Hold it together, Khronos," advised Lawrence…though his lined face was expressing nearly as much shock and pity as the reaper he was advising. He glanced over at his sister and he could see that she was growing tired, though she diligently continued her song, taming the records to give Undertaker a better chance of sorting them out.

"Why?" snarled the mortician again. He hardly even knew what he was saying any longer. "What drew him to you, rose?"

He could almost believe that it was Grell’s looks and personality alone—after all, those were what captured his interest in the first place…but the Hypnos he recalled was a purely intellectual reaper, who amused himself by toying with others and studying their reactions. Lovely as Grell was, there had to be more. As he sorted out the reels, his fingers moving with startling, blurred speed, Anderson called out for him to look at one particular reel. Undertaker did as advised, wondering what had caught his friend’s attention.

 

* * *

 

_The moon was full and bright. It’s glow reflecting in the water at her feet. The breeze tickled her curls as it rippled through her golden hair. A blue bonnet adorned her head and matched the blue dress she was wearing. Her white gloves fit snugly on her hands, clasped before her as she watched two swans glide across the lake. Butterflies took flight in her tummy. She raised her eyes to the heavens and smiled up at the stars; the picturesque bride._

_Celeste turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps; casual steps crunching fallen leaves and branches. Her smile widened as the moon fell on her newly wed Husband. “Charles. Isn’t it…”_   
  
_Charles stopped just before her. His smile fading replaced with a look of fear. Frightened herself, Celeste took a step closer. “Charles? What is the…”_   
  
_“Celeste…” He choked as the prick of something sharp pierced the flesh of his neck. Slowly, the invisible tool glided across his throat. Celeste screamed in horror. Blood gushed from his gaping wound, soaking the snow white shirt he wore. He stumbled forward. One hand was on his throat, the other reaching for her. Tears poured from his eyes. They grew round and terrified as a man appeared behind the young woman. Fearful, she backed into the mysterious figure while her husband fell at her feet. A hand slipped around her waist as she spun to see who was behind her. He held fast to her as she slapped at his chest. Her attempts to escape were futile. She was in the grip of death._

 

* * *

 

Undertaker watched the scene and he was again stricken with a feeling of helplessness. So, this was how she and her husband were killed. He wondered if it was done for the express purpose of collecting their records to later transfer into Wundt’s “subjects”, or if it was done simply for the sake of pleasure. When he saw the brief flash of the killer’s face, recognition struck him and he snarled again. He was right; Thanatos was indeed in on this. He must have disguised himself, if it was indeed him on the ship. He was just the sort of malicious, reckless kind of death god to do such a sloppy job meddling with cinematic records, too.

"What are they after?" groaned the mortician, sifting through more reels to separate them and place them where they belonged. "What could Grell have that they both want? Or has Hypnos promised Thanatos something else in exchange for his aid?"

"They were always close," reminded Anderson. "Well, as close as two sociopaths could be with anyone. Perhaps Thanatos is working with him simply because he finds his schemes intriguing enough to do so for entertainment value."

Khronos shook his head. “He’s too greedy for that. There must be something he stands to gain from it. We just…need to find out what it is.”

Moira’s time ran out. Her throat closed and she collapsed on top of Grell’s altered body. She could only hope that Khronos had gained enough control over the hostile records and was near completion. The song she sung had come to an end. Her eyes closed, sending her into a deep reaper’s sleep. The appearance of death was on her face as she slipped into unconsciousness and into a coma. Her body and powers needing to be restored.

"Khronos," warned Anderson as the reels began to go wild again. He’d nearly finished, but there were still enough of them to be dangerous.

"I know," said the mortician through gritted teeth. He was running out of energy himself, and he struggled to collect the last of the records and get them properly sorted. He avoided looking at the deeply personal ones such as Celeste making love with her husband and Grell going to the bathroom, but he couldn’t quite avoid paying attention to the truly awful ones cataloguing the things that Wundt did to Grell. He wasn’t even aware of the tears spilling down his face as he poured every ounce of strength and willpower he possessed into it, guiding the erratic records back into Grell’s body.

"Unh…done," he finally rasped when the last of them vanished into the altered reaper he was working over. Undertaker collapsed on top of his lover, panting and seeing stars.

"Are you all right, old boy?" questioned Lawrence.

"Just…need to catch my breath," wheezed Undertaker. He held one of Grell’s limp hands in his and he prayed to the fates that he’d succeeded. Undoing the alteration done to his body would have to wait, for now. He had nothing left to give.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

Warm and rested, Grell slowly emerged from the depths of sleep. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. A smile formed on his colorless lips. He was nestled in his lover's arms, safe and secure. Undertaker's scent filled his nostrils and gradually his hand emerged from between their bodies, to gingerly brush the silver bangs from Khronos' Face.   
  
 _~It was just a dream. A bad dream... but a dream no less.~_  
  
"I thought I was lost forever. That I would never see you again." He whispered as he ran his fingers over his lover's cheek. "But it was only a dr..."  
  
"Wait! No pink!" Grell exclaimed as the corner of his eye met the ceiling above them. He lifted his head and looked over the Undertaker's body. His eyes expanded and he realized they were not at the shop.   
  
"Khronos?! Wake up!" He lowered his voice, though there was urgency in his tone. Heart racing, he began to push on his lover's chest in an attempt to wake him. "Khronos?!"  
  
Undertaker snorted and stirred, odd dreams of having little baby reapers with Grell disturbed by the sudden, urgent calls. The mental image of boys with his hair color and girls with Grell's vivid locks faded as he came awake. He recognized it as Grell's voice, yet it was also Celeste's. Fighting a sense of dread at the sudden thought that he'd failed after all, he opened his eyes and looked at his bed companion.   
  
"Cel...Grell?" he asked a little uncertainly, reaching out to touch the frightened, beloved face.   
  
"Khronos... Khronos we're not in your shop!" Grell said, frightened as he sat up and looked down at his lover. The sheet fell from his body when he moved. "Look! Where the Hell are we?!"  
  
For a moment, all the mortician could do was stare dumbly. The pink nightgown Grell was wearing over his now female body was cut low enough to show off quite a bit of cleavage. In fact, he could just see the hint of a rosy nipple peaking out of the left side.  
  
"Er...we're at..." Still groggy and disoriented himself, the poor ancient couldn't stop staring at his lover's cleavage. "You know, I think I've forgotten."  
  
"What is it? You look like a corpse just walked into your shop and you can't wait to get your hands..." Grell looked down, trying to figure out what the old fool was looking at. His eyes enlarged at the sight of two round, milky white breasts rising and falling with his breath. "Lucifer's burning tits! What the hell are these and why are they attached to my body?!"  
  
Afraid to touch them, Grell looked up at the Undertaker, wearing a confused expression on his face. "Khronos...?"  
  
Undertaker's brows went up beneath his bangs, and he couldn't resist a comeback as he again stared at the cleavage. "I'd say those are your burning tits, darlin'. Lucifer's got nothing to do with them being there, either."  
  
He sat up and he stroked a wayward golden curl out of Grell's eye—his perfectly human looking, blue eye. "Just try to stay calm and let me explain. Do you remember being kidnapped?"  
  
Grell shook his head, "What do you mean they're mine?! I don't have breasts!"  
  
Panicked, confused and frightened were never a good combination when it came to Grell Sutcliff. Before Undertaker had a chance to stop him, Grell leapt from the bed and ran to the mirror on Moira's vanity. The only problem was the face that greeted Grell was not his own. Not completely, anyways. Wide, round blue eyes and silky, golden locks of blonde hair appeared before him. Hands shaking, he touched the hair framing his face.   
  
"Holy angels in Hell!" He blurted, shaking his head as he backed from the mirror. Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. "No! This isn't real! I...I'm still dreaming! No!"  
  
Khronos got out of the bed and went to him...or rather her. "Grell, listen to me, love. It's not permanent—least I don't think so. The man that kidnapped you intended to take you to Wundt. When he found out I was coming after him with allies, he decided to try and hide you from me this way. He copied the appearance of a dead woman, applied it to your flesh and put her cinematic records into you. They overlapped and it threatened to destroy the both of you. I separated her records from yours with some help from old friends, but we still need to suss out just what he did to alter your form and undo it. You're still Grell Sutcliff...still my rose."  
  
"No! It's impossible to change sexes. The eyes the hair...." Grell froze mid speech and grabbed the Under taker's arms. "Did he...? If I... Then he must..."  
  
Grell spun away from his lover and reached under the hem of the gown; his hand discovering the male bits of his body missing. Slowly, he lowered the nightgown and turned, almost in slow motion, back to Khronos. His mouth hung open in disbelief. "How?"  
  
"That's what I've been trying to explain, love," said the older reaper patiently, "we're still working on figuring that out. What's most important now is you're out of their slimy hands again and they won't be—"  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Lawrence cracked it open without looking inside. "Pardon the intrusion, but Agent Knox just arrived...and he seems quite anxious. He's waiting on the back sun deck facing the duck pond and I think you'd better come down and speak with him, Khronos."  
  
"Er, can you talk to him for a bit?" asked the mortician. "I'm in the middle of trying to explain to Grell what happened."  
  
"I'll see to it that he's refreshed and try to calm him, but the boy threw his work phone into my pond. He's quite agitated and worried that someone may try to follow him."  
  
The Undertaker sighed and gave his lover a helpless look. "Why don't you slip into a robe and come down with me, lovely? Ronnie has some news for us that directly relates to you and this situation. Mayhap Pops can explain to you better than I can. My poor head's spinning right now."  
  
Grell shook his head and replied, "I can't... I don't know how to face Ronnie like this. And where are we? Why was Pops at the door? The last thing I remember before waking up here...I was bound and gagged on a ship with a reaper I had never laid eyes upon before."  
  
Undertaker's heart ached with regret and anger. "He's the sod that did this to you. His true name is Thanatos. He was one of the originals, like myself and Lawrence Anderson. The man you know as Wundt is actually Hypnos. I'm still not sure why he targeted you but he became quite obsessed with you and he arranged for Thanatos to kidnap you and bring you to him. I reckon you've got no memory of what happened after the ship because that's when he did his trick with you and the woman you look like, putting her cinematic records in your body to try and hide you from me."  
  
Undertaker took one of Grell's hands and he lifted it, kissing the top of it. "I'm sorry I didn't make it in time to stop him, my dear. We'll get you sorted out eventually though, and when we do, the reapers responsible for this are going to pay. Just try to stay calm. You've altered your appearance before. This is a bit like that; just more erm...potent. We'll figure out how to undo it."  
  
"Yes, but I only learned how to change my hair, my teeth and my eye color...not my vision. And certainly not my sex." Grell answered back. He then stepped around his lover and walked over to and leaned against the bedpost. Speaking over his shoulder, he continued. "I mean...I have always felt unmatched with my body. But this was done without my consent…without my knowledge. I don't know how to change back or if I would want to. This was forced on me."  
  
Undertaker started to go to him, but then decided against it. He didn't want to crowd Grell. What a terrible shock it must have been, to wake up with his form so altered. He wanted to tell him that he'd adore him no matter what form he was in, but Grell's angst wasn't about whether he found him desirable or not.   
  
"Khronos?" called Lawrence from the hallway. "If you like, I could sit with Grell while you speak with Ronald."  
  
The mortician looked at his lover uncertainly. "Would that be all right by you, m'dear? You know Anderson, and he's already aware of what's going on. Ronnie is too, but he doesn't know you're back yet, and I won't press you to meet up with him right now."  
  
Grell nodded and reached for the robe he found lying across the foot of the bed. Slipping it on, he turned and faced Khronos. He wiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes. "Mister Anderson is welcome to keep me company if he so wishes. Please just tell Ronnie I am awake and well."  
  
Undertaker dared to cup Grell's face in his hands and plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "I promise you, we'll find a way to make it better, my dear."  
  
He couldn't promise to make it 'right', because with what had been done to his lover, there might never be such a thing again for Grell. For that matter, he wondered if laughter might have deserted him forever. No...there was no "right" for either of them now...but if they were to be broken reapers for eternity, at least he could try to make it more bearable. He made his exit and he spoke softly to the stately man on the other side of the door.   
  
"Stay with him for me, chap," he whispered. "Keep him company while I sort this out. You've got a way of comforting the younger folk and he desperately needs that."  
  
Lawrence nodded. "I will, old friend."  
  
He watched Khronos head for the stairs and he knocked politely against the door. "Agent Sutcliff, may I come in?"  
  
"Yes." Grell replied as he tied the robe closed. Painting a smile on his face he faced the older reaper as he entered the room. "I must look strange to you. Blonde really does not suit me."  
  
Lawrence retrieved his pipe from his vest and he began to pack it. "You look much the same as I recall," he said kindly. "Albeit with different hair and eyes...and some other notable changes...but I do remember seeing you alter your appearance before. May I?" He pointed at the pipe in his hand, too polite to light it without ensuring it would not bother his guest.   
  
"You may." Grell nodded as he took his seat on the vanity bench. "Please sit down. It has been quite sometime since you and I had a chat. And you are correct; I did at one time alter my appearance, but I am not in the practice of doing it any longer. I've had no reason to."  
  
Grell looked down at his lap. His new breasts were proving to be an obstruction to his view. "Will they go away? When I use to alter myself, my spells didn't always last for long. A day or two and then I would have to reapply the incantation."  
  
Anderson lit his pipe and took a couple of puffs while he thought on it. "I have good reason to believe that it will fade with time, if we cannot reverse it ourselves. I'm not certain how much you and Khronos discussed, but what was done to you is a more powerful version of your own personal alterations."  
  
He looked out the window with a frown, his mustache shifting as he sucked on his pipe. He blew out another puff of smoke, and he regarded Grell calmly. "I'm puzzled as to how a young reaper such as yourself managed to disguise yourself so well. Such a skill is a thing that has been lost to the ages for our kind, and once it was a thing that only the oldest of us could accomplish so potently. Most reapers can disguise their eye color to one extent or the other, but to alter the hair as well? I was most intrigued when I learned you did that."  
  
The ancient shrugged and he looked at Grell again. "Khronos does love you. He's thought of nothing more than getting you back, since this disaster first occurred. I'm not sure what happened between the two of you to invoke such devotion from him, but I'm rather glad. Of all of us...all of the originals left...he has faded the most. You gave him a reason to recall what he is, Grell; and who he once was. He struggles, but I can assure you that from what I have witnessed he will love you regardless of whether we can recall your original form immediately or wait it out."  
  
"You don't think he would mind if my body remained this way?" Grell looked up, his eyes wide with hope and his lips parted.   
  
"He's the first man to treat me like a reaper and not some side show freak. And I thought I was in love with others before, but Khronos... he makes me feel complete. I don't want to loose him. I thought it was just sex he was after and I was willing to give it to him." Grell looked away again, his voice cracking a tad. "I would have given him my body alone if it meant he would just hold me."  
  
"Yes...well.." Anderson cleared his throat, his cheeks going slightly ruddy in response to Grell's passionate description of the relations between him and his old friend. "I think that losing him at this point is the last thing you need to worry about. He adores you. He came close to breaking, in fact, because he was so frantic to get you back. I daresay, Agent Sutcliff, that you have a companion for life, if you let him be so. If your body was all that he wanted, he would not go through such extreme measures to bring you back to him."  
  
"Thank you for that." Grell's gaze wandered back up to Lawrence's face. "Mister Anderson...you wouldn't happen to know who it was that took me? The one who did this to me. I can't recall having seen him before. Yet, there was something oddly familiar about him. Oh... and one more thing... Are we at your house?"  
  
"Yes, we are at my home," answered Lawrence. "As for the reaper responsible for kidnapping you, well...I had my doubts but after witnessing your lover replacing your records, I believe him when he says that it is Thanatos. He once worked closely with the Shinigami you have come to know as 'Wundt'. He—and I mean Thanatos—was quite adept at altering his form, while I knew him. It comes as no surprise to me that he was so easily able to alter yours."  
  
"Thanatos?!" Grell croaked, "The ancient Death?! That's impossible! He...he's been unseen for a millennia. That makes no sense. You must be jesting. Why would an ancient like him be working for Wundt? I can't accept that..." He shook his head. "No! It cannot be so!"   
  
Grell abruptly stood and began pacing the floor. "Wundt works alone... with exception of his two goons. He wouldn't like others to know. He keeps things low key and private."  
  
Anderson gave the younger reaper a subtly concerned look. "And what if I told you that the reaper you have come to know as 'Wundt" is actually Hypnos in disguise?"  
  
Grell stopped. Slowly he turned around. He was scowling as his eyes met those of Anderson's. "Hypnos? He's dead. Every reaper knows that. His records are locked in a secure volt within the library. I cannot believe a reaper as yourself would say such a thing. Even if it were possible...how...how could the higher-ups be unaware of his existence?"   
  
Shaking his head, Grell sat down upon on the bed. His heart began to race and his mind was flooded with memories from when he was a captive of Wundt's.   
  
"Wundt couldn't be an ancient... If that was true, then why me? Why would he want to do those things to me? Why torture me? Why..." Grell trailed off as he looked up at the older reaper. Tears had gathered once more in his eyes and began to trickle down his cheek.  
  
With a sigh, the ancient joined Grell on the bed and he patted him gently on the back. "Hypnos was infamous for his tampering...his experiments. Perhaps he chose you at random and then developed a fascination with you, or perhaps he chose you specifically for something he saw in you from the beginning. Though his methods have always been questionable and difficult to understand, Hypnos always has a reason for the things he does. We believe he may have been after something specific from you in the beginning, but we are still unsure of what."  
  
Lawrence considered the transformed reaper thoughtfully. "Your ability to alter your appearance so drastically is quite unusual for a reaper your age, Grell. It's an unusual talent to be able to alter one's entire appearance, even temporarily. I wonder if that might be what caught his attention."  
  
"I taught myself." Grell replied, shrugging. "As far as I was aware...I was the only one to learn how."  
  
Grell looked down again, his voice growing quiet. "I don't know much about Hypnos or any of the other ancients. Not much is taught in the academy about our history. The only thing I know is that there were five, and they had special abilities. What they were is never discussed. Only that made reapers and their descendants were denied these abilities."  
  
"Mister Anderson, until three years ago, I didn't even know Khronos was one...an ancient. And until a few days ago I didn't even know his true name." Grell looked back up at the graying reaper. He reached out and touched Anderson's free hand. "What could I possibly know, that would interest an ancient?"  
  
Anderson puffed his pipe thoughtfully. "That's the big question, isn't it? The Hypnos I knew was not prone to romantic flights of fancy, so one can't presume mere infatuation is to blame for it. Taught yourself, you say? That's quite interesting, considering the talents you've demonstrated have been lost to reapers for ages. It became forbidden to teach such a thing long ago. I wonder if you weren't reborn from the soul of an elder, rather than a mortal. Without access to certain tomes or tutelage from an original, no ordinary reaper should have been able to learn such skills. Very interesting."  
  
He stopped rambling and he gave the displaced young reaper a kind little smile. "Well, we can discuss it in further detail another time, when you've rested up and had a bit of time to adjust more. I know you are terribly confused right now, Grell, and your head is probably spinning, trying to process the information you've received. I shall brew a relaxing chamomile tea and bring you something to nibble on, if you like."   
  
"Wait!" Grell called out, taking the older reaper's arm. "I don't want to be alone. I'd like to come with you. And Mister Anderson, I was not made into a reaper. I was born from two. I come from a strong lineage of reapers; one of the oldest bloodlines. I am a pure-blood. My mother's side...it goes back to one of the firsts. I am a descendant of Atropos."  
  
Anderson halted abruptly, and unseen by Grell, one eyebrow went up almost comically. He turned slowly to look at the blonde female now taking form in this reaper's body. "Who told you that, exactly?"  
  
"I see... You don't believe me. I can't say that I blame you." Grell fidgeted with the belt of his robe. His nerves were jumbled. His family secret had never been shared before. He looked up and studied the older reaper's face. "I don't know much. Only what my mother told me. The line was always female. I was the first-born male. I've never told anyone before, about my family."  
  
Lawrence frowned in thought, thinking of his sister. If this was true, then Grell was his own descendent as well. Fresh anger churned in his stomach, souring the meager nourishment he'd taken in since Khronos rescued this unfortunate young reaper from his captor. He walked back to Grell and he gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in his facial features, his mannerisms and his build. Male or female, he could see the resemblance to Moira now that it was called to his attention.  
  
The ancient's expression softened, and he reached out to stroke Grell's hair in a paternal gesture. "I believe you. We can discuss this further after we've both had some refreshment, youngling. Your body needs it and so does my own. If it would make you feel better, you can certainly accompany me to the kitchen. Your young friend Ronald is out on the back deck, so we can easily slip by without him seeing you."  
  
Anderson offered his arm in a cordial gesture. "Shall we?"  
  
"Thank you." Grell replied, a smile lighting up his face as he took Lawrence's offered arm. "I am just a bit nervous to be left alone right now. And a cup of tea sounds quite lovely. I think I might be a tad hungry as well. Would you mind if I fix us something to eat? Though I have no idea what you have here."  
  
Grell had known Lawrence for over a hundred years now. And not once had he ever sat down and talked to the head of the eye-wear department. He puzzled over the reasoning of that for a moment as they made their way to the staircase.   
  
"I am sorry I never stopped by and got to know you before, Mister Anderson. Also for breaking my first pair of glasses that you made for me." Grell apologized as they entered the kitchen. His cheeks turned pink and he looked down at his feet. "I was such an arrogant young reaper back then and passing the exam, plus saving Will's life...well...not much has changed. I am still impetuous. But I appreciate you opening your home to Khronos and I. Though, to be honest, I have no idea why you are helping us."  
  
Lawrence smiled, remembering Grell from back when his hair was worn shorter. He'd indeed been a handful...just like Moira. "Think nothing of it. I have greater reasons for helping you than even I expected. I believe we can manage a light lunch for ourselves together, and once things are sorted out with Mr. Knox, I shall introduce you to my sister and we can talk further. I believe she'll be quite pleased to meet you, Grell."

 

* * *

 

"So you threw your phone away?" pressed Khronos as he watched the young blond pace before him.  
  
"Well, fuck yes!" answered Ronald in an agitated voice. "They tracked my number and Dispatch was being all locked down and stuff! I couldn't even go to Spears-Senpai for help. Didn't know what else to do so I slipped out through the garbage chute and—"  
  
Undertaker started to laugh, and Ronald took off his loafer and threw it at his head. "It's not funny old geezer!"  
  
The mortician barely ducked in time to avoid the hurled footwear and he cleared his throat. "Sorry, chap. Just struck my funny-bone and frankly, I'm glad you didn't get the opportunity to speak with your superior about this. I know you and Grell are both fond of the man, but we can't be sure he hasn't been lured over to Wundt's side and you could have found yourself in an asylum, to suffer the same fate as your mentor."  
  
He sobered as Ronald paled at the thought. "Don't come down too hard on Mr. Spears if he has turned against Grell, lad. Hypnos can spread believable lies like locusts. The problem we have now is that we have no way to get in direct contact with Thanatos—"  
  
"Said his name was Garrison," interrupted the blond as he retrieved his shoe from the deck and put it back on.  
  
"It's merely a cover-up," explained the mortician patiently, "like my identity as the Undertaker. Anywho, since you decided to feed your talking device to the water fowl, we have no way to contact him back for negotiations."  
  
Ronald sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, taking a seat on the wicker chair across from Undertaker's. "I panicked, okay? I figured if he knew my number than Dispatch might find out I've been trying to help, and I didn't want them to track me back to Senpai."  
  
"I understand," said Khronos soothingly, "and I can't say I'd do differently if it were me, either. Death knows, I've made plenty of mistakes."  
  
Ronald snorted and gave him a wry look. "Ya think?"  
  
The ancient waved his hands in an innocent gesture. "Now, let's not start pointing fingers, boy. What did Than...er...Garrison say to you, exactly?"  
  
The blond reaper heaved a sigh and blew his bangs out of his eyes. "He said he knew who I was and he was going to expose me as an accessory to criminal mischief to Dispatch for helping Sutcliff-Senpai escape. Said he had that Phantomhive kid and his pet demon, and if we don't want them joining the death lists, we'd best cough up Grell."  
  
Ronald looked at Undertaker with worried eyes. "What th' hell are we gonna do now?"  
  
"Calm down, calm down," soothed the mortician. "He can't have done anything yet or you mightn't have made it down that garbage chute at all. I think he's mostly bluffing, but I don't doubt he'd go after the little lord and Sebastian did vanish suddenly on that ship. It's important not to panic right now, Ronnie. We can't clear your name or Grell's that way."  
  
Ronald took a cleansing breath. "Okay, I'll try to cool it. How's Senpai, by the way? Ya said you got him back but you haven't said how he's doing."  
  
Undertaker hesitated. "Well, he's confused—as can be expected in his situation—and he's still stuck in female form. Otherwise he seems healthy."  
  
Ronald blinked. "He's...still got boobs?"   
  
Undertaker suppressed a chuckle. "My, my...you've a way with words. Yes, he still has 'boobs' and they're likely to stay for a while, 'till we can figure out exactly what was done to him and undo it. No touching, lad. He's still my lady."  
  
"Like I'd come on to my own Senpai," snorted Ronald. He made an expression that was a half-smirk, half-grimace. "Funny...a while ago I'd have thought he'd love to be turned into a woman."  
  
The boy sighed and propped his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his palms. "But not like this. That guy totally violated him. This blows."  
  
Undertaker's expression darkened a bit. "Yes, I agree. We'll set things right, m'boy. Just stay strong for your 'senpai' and keep your wits about you."  
  
Ronald nodded. "Yeah. Can I see him?"  
  
The ancient hesitated again. "He...doesn't really want to be seen like this."  
  
"Hey, I don't care if he has boobs or not," protested the blond, lifting his chin off his hands. "He's my senpai and I'm his...er...Mustard Seed. Would ya tell him that, please?"  
  
Undertaker smiled. "I'll do my best, chap."

 

* * *

 

Grell's lip quivered as he looked up at Khronos. The plate he held in his hand shaking. His brow was pinched together and a frown appeared on his mouth. His blond hair was tied back and out of his way. His bare toes gripped the cold slate flooring.   
  
"He'll make fun of me. I love Ronnie, but I don't look like myself. And...and he'll laugh at me." Grell replied to the request Khronos had made on Ronald's behalf to see him. "I still can't believe he already saw me, when I wasn't me."  
  
Grell looked over at Anderson, who was placing glasses on the table and then back up at his lover. "He's in trouble now isn't he...with dispatch, because of me?"   
  
Shaking his head, Grell stepped around the Undertaker and sat the plate down onto the table. He leaned heavily on the chair in front of him and sighed. "I suppose it is inevitable that he will see me like this."  
  
Undertaker stroked his hair soothingly. "There's nothing wrong with the way you are now, love. True, it's not your usual form but we'll find a way to fix it. That boy out there cares for you...looks up to you. He might be a cheeky sort but I don't believe for a second that he'd make fun of you. He's worried sick. He wouldn't have put himself at risk like this if it were otherwise, so why don't you try to have a little faith in him and visit for a while? He just told me he doesn't care whether you have 'boobs' or not. He just wants to be sure you're all right."  
  
Nodding, Grell turned around and slipped his arms around the retired reaper's waist. "I suppose I could offer him some lunch as well. I did fix a couple of extra sandwiches. And knowing Ronnie, he hasn't ate a thing today."  
  
"That's the spirit," encouraged Khronos with a grin. "I knew you were stronger than that, darlin'. You'll beat this, and we'll help."  
  
He cupped Grell's chin and he dared to lay a gentle kiss on his lips. He still couldn't say just when he'd fallen so hard for him, but he was now thoroughly ensnared, and he had no intention of giving him up...no matter what gender form he took. "Courage, rose," he whispered upon ending the kiss. "I'll be at your side no matter what."

 

* * *

 

The sliding glass door slid open and two pale bare feet stepped out onto the deck over looking the Anderson backyard. Grell slid the door closed behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist as he approached the blond, who was leaning over the deck railing.   
  
"Khronos says you want to see me." Grell said timidly, peering down at the wooden planks they were both standing on. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this. But thank you for coming after me and helping him. I'd most likely be in Wundt's hands...in Germany if not for you."  
  
Ronald turned around at the sound of his mentor's familiar voice...and he froze for a second.   
  
"Oh wow...Senpai, you look..." He scratched his head uncertainty before smiling. "Ya look great, considering what you've been through and all." He sighed. "Sorry I wasn't there sooner."   
  
Slowly, Grell raised his head and looked Ronald in the eyes. "I don't look like a reaper. I look mortal. But thank you...thank you for not teasing." He swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder, back at the kitchen. "I made lunch. Would you like to join us?"  
  
Ronald scratched his head and grimaced. "About two hours ago I'd have jumped on that offer, but right now I think if I try to eat anything we'll just get a nasty encore in reverse."  
  
He sighed and stuck his hands into his pockets, looking at Grell with concern. "And I'd never tease you for something ya couldn't help. If it makes you feel any better, you look really cute. If I didn't know you were my senpai I might ask you out. Um...are you...okay? All things considered, I mean."  
  
With wide eyes and pink cheeks, Grell turned his attention back to the blond. "You think I look Cute?"  
  
Ronald nodded cautiously, well-aware that his mentor could be volatile. "Don't get offended or anything, but yeah. I mean, you were cute before too...don't get me wrong."   
  
He started getting flustered and he scratched the back of his head again, flushing. "I'm not trying to come onto ya or anything, Senpai. I'm not blowing smoke up your ass, either. I'm just saying...it could have been worse."  
  
Grell didn't say anything right away. Instead he stepped closer to the blond and slipped his arms around his waist. Gently the redhead laid his head on the young reaper's shoulder and whispered into his ear. "Thank you, Ronnie. That means a lot to me."  
  
The boy got a little flustered when he noticed Undertaker peeking out with a slight frown. As he hugged his mentor back, he mouthed to the mortician: "Hey, just friends, alright?"  
  
Undertaker smirked with amusement and went back in, and Ronald sighed with relief. He already felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what was happening with Dispatch and that creep that kidnapped the demon butler and the kid. He had no love for Sebastian, but he figured anyone powerful enough to hold him hostage as well as do the things he'd done to Grell must be a tough cookie to handle.  
  
He stepped back from his mentor and he smiled at him. "We've got a lot of stuff to figure out, but I'm not letting either of those creeps get their hands on you again, if I can help it. I could go for a drink, if Pops has anything lying around. Need to settle my nerves."  
  
"You will have to ask him." Grell replied, smiling at the blond. "And you are right; there is much to discuss. I have also got to take care of at least some of this." He looked at the lock blond hair he was twirling between his index finger and thumb. "Blond looks good on you. It suits you, but it does nothing for my complexion. And I am not fond of blue eyes. I much prefer my lovely green ones instead."  
  
Grell reached out and took Ronald's hand and nodded towards the sliding glass door. "Come on. I'm famished. You may not feel like eating, but I do."  
  
Ronald allowed himself to be guided through the door by his senpai, and he gave Undertaker a nod when he found him chowing down on one the sandwiches Grell mentioned. The old guy really didn't hold back when it came to food, and Ron wondered briefly where he stashed it all. Maybe in his boots...  
  
"Now Khronos, save some for the rest of us," chuckled Anderson as the hungry mortician stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.  
  
Undertaker started to give a muffled reply, but he had the courtesy to chew and swallow before answering. "I only had one, chap. Still a might peckish, though." He rubbed his stomach and wiped his mouth. "Sorry for being a pig."  
  
"I have some cheese in the cooler," offered the other ancient. He nodded at Ronald. "And hello to you again, Mr. Knox. Would you like a bite?"  
  
"Um, I'm kind of more in the mood for something stout, sir," answered Ronald respectfully. "I guess that makes me look bad."  
  
Anderson shook his head. "Not at all. You've had a trying day; as have we all. Why don't you join me to look for a drink of your fancy while Grell and Khronos eat?"  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me," agreed the blond.   
  
Grell watched as Ronald and Lawrence bumbled around in search of booze, before turning his attention to the older reaper across from him. "Always hungry, aren't you?" He asked as he slipped from his chair and walked over to his lover. "May I take a seat...here?" A large smile cut across the redhead's lips as he motioned to Khronos' lap.  
  
The mortician hastily wiped crumbs from his robes before making grabby hands at Grell and smiling at him. "My lap's all yours, darlin'."  
  
As Grell climbed into his lap, Khronos recalled the last time he'd felt this altered body so intimately against his and he was stricken with horrible guilt. He'd nearly shagged the woman inhabiting Grell's body. He watched his lover carefully as Grell began to eat, and he wondered what—if anything—he had witnessed of that encounter. He'd almost committed two wrongs against him and he couldn't decide what was worse; his nearly making love to another, or nearly making love to Grell's body while his mind was trapped.  
  
Suddenly, even putting his hand on Grell's robe-covered knee felt like a violation. Grell had been through too much already though, and Khronos doubted he was ready to discuss what had nearly happened with Celeste. Thank Styx for Atropos and her timely interruption...embarrassing though it had been.   
  
"What's wrong?" Grell asked as he picked up the glass of lemonade he was nursing. His brow was pinched in confusion. The older reaper seemed to be lost in thought and reluctant to touch him. Grell could not help feeling that it might have something to do with his new appearance and it made his stomach flip, though he was trying to hide the reaction.   
  
He took a quick sip of the cool and sweet beverage, then sat the glass back on the table before touching the Undertaker's cheek. "Khronos? Are you afraid to touch me?"  
  
Khronos shook himself out of it, and he made himself smile at him. "I'm just trying to watch my hands, love. Trying to be a gentleman." He put his arms around Grell's waist to hug him, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. "I love touching you, my dear. I just know I can be a dirty old sod sometimes and you've been through enough without me pawing at you."  
  
Grell returned the smile. He ran his fingers through the ancient's long hair and replied, "So it isn't my body that displeases you? I know I have been through a lot, but I want you to hold me. I feel safe with you and...and that isn't something I have experienced with anyone else. But I do need to ask a favour. I know Wundt is going to come after me again, but I really need to drop by my place. I can't stand not having my real hair or my real eyes. My body is odd enough, but I want to feel a bit more like myself. Will you take me there, so I can fix part of what has been done to me?"  
  
Undertaker hesitated for a bare moment, before nodding. "Of course, love. Not without our friends, though. If he comes after you, he'll have all of us to deal with. I don't want to give him or his cronies another chance to get you."  
  
He kissed Grell's soft lips, banishing the memory of doing this when another soul was at the forefront. This was his Grell now, and he could make amends to him later.  
  
"I suppose that would be fine. I can also grab some things I hadn't before we left for your shop, as I hadn't planned to be away for so long. Oh! Your shop?!" Grell perked up, his brows lifting. "What about your business, love? You can't stay away from it for to long."  
  
Undertaker shrugged. "I can put it on hold for a bit. I can drop by there to get my savings, but I never purchase more than I need, anyhow. That's why I always prefer entertainment over currency...well, that and my dislike of the monarchy. I've enough saved up to get me by for a while. Right now what's most important is dealing with these buggars. The one that did this to you has Earl Phantomhive and his butler, apparently. Wundt's been filling Dispatch's ears with poison trying to find you, and that's why your young friend tossed his phone in the pond when he got here."  
  
"What?" Grell gasped, surprised as he sat up straighter in his lover's lap. "What of Sebastian? How could they have captured the little brat? He would never have allowed it."  
  
Grell paused for a moment his hands resting lightly upon each of Khronos' shoulders. He looked confused again. "Khronos? Why is Ciel even involved? I don't understand. There should be no reason for Wundt and his...his...whatever he is, going after Ciel. Where is Sebastian?"  
  
"He's...er..." Undertaker grimaced with the realization that Ronald had never said. "Oh bugger. I think we'd best ask the Mustard Seed."  
  
He eased Grell off of his lap and patted him on the shoulder, before fetching Ronald from the study where he'd been having a drink with Anderson. "Hey, what gives? You're making me spill my drink!" Protested the young reaper as he was pulled into the kitchen behind the tall ancient.  
  
"Ronnie, did 'Garrison' happen to give you a location of any sort when you had your little chat with him, before you threw your phone away?"  
  
The boy's brow furrowed over his glasses, and he shook his head. "Well, no. I told him I wasn't the one he needed to talk to and then I snuck out and came here and...and...oooooh, shiiiit!"  
  
His wide eyes went to the duck pond, where he'd sent his phone to sleep with the fish.  
  
Grell eyed both reapers suspiciously. Growing perturbed with the two of them, he put his hands on his hips and began to tap his right foot. "Would one of you care to explain what the hell is going on? How is that Wundt has Ciel Phantomhive? And how in the hell did he get past Sebastian? Answers gentlemen, I want answers."  
  
Ronald and Undertaker looked at each other and shrugged. "Don't know, kitten," answered the older reaper. "When Garrison took you, I sent a message to Ronald to meet up with me, because I knew he was the only Dispatch agent I could trust to help. Ronnie dropped by the Phantomhive manor and convinced Ciel to let us borrow his butler, and sometime while we were all split up on the ship looking for you, Mr. Snooty vanished and Ronnie found you on deck in your current form first."  
  
"I recognized your voice," said the blond. "Even though it was coming from a woman's lips. Then I saw your face and I knew it was you."  
  
"We had to leave in a bit of a hurry," Undertaker went on. "You'd been all muddled by the tampering that bloke did to your records, and I didn't want to risk you getting hurt or caught again, so I portaled out with you and Ronnie."  
  
"And dropped us a hundred feet above London," grumbled Ronald.  
  
"I was fatigued," excused the mortician. "You try stopping time and then creating an exact portal, Mustard Seed."  
  
Ronald rolled his eyes. "So anyhow, we figured the butler just gave up and teleported himself home, but when 'Taker here called the kid up to see if he was there, no Sebastian."  
  
"The little earl blessed me out good," sighed Undertaker. "But I really didn't think anything would happen to him in the time it took for us to bring your consciousness back, love. It seems Garrison found out about Ciel while he had Sebastian in custody, and he went and snatched the boy up too."  
  
"Do we even know how he managed to catch Sebastian at all?" Ronald asked with a confused frown.  
  
"He's Thanatos in disguise," insisted Khronos. "Believe me, he's got ways."  
  
Grell's mouth dropped open and had he the ability, his tongue would have rolled across the floor. He stared at Khronos and Ronald, dumbstruck. What had he just heard? He couldn't absorb it all. Khronos had left out certain details when he had rush explained Ronnie being there. He knew that his mind had been tampered with. Someone's records had been placed within him. He remembered none of it, only what Khronos had told him upstairs. But not only had Ronald come with Khronos to save him on the ship, so did Sebastian. And the name Garrison sat funny with him. Grell stumbled to his seat and sat down.   
  
"I know that name." He mumbled. "He's wanted for breaking reaper laws. Lloyd Garrison." Grell looked up at Khronos and Ronald. "Was that him, that had me bound and gagged in that cabin on the ship? His touch...it reminded me...me of Wundt's. Tha...na...to..." Grell's speech slowly came to a stop. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. His body went limp and he began to fall sideways out of his chair.  
  
"Grell!"  
  
"Senpai!"  
  
Both Ronald and Undertaker dove for the falling reaper at the same time, and their heads clunked together painfully. Undertaker's was more cushioned than Ronald's due to his thick hair, so he managed to think through the jarring collision enough to catch Grell before he hit the floor. Ronald, however, stumbled backwards and dropped his drink on the floor, shattering it.  
  
Lawrence came hurrying out of the study to find Khronos kneeling with Grell's unconscious form in his arms, and Ronald sprawled against the back of the counter island, holding his head.  
  
"Unh...he okay?" Ronald managed to ask.  
  
"Fainted," replied Undertaker. He gathered his lover into his arms and carefully lifted him—or her, as the case seemed to be for now.   
  
Ronald glanced at the shattered mess he made and he winced, looking up at Anderson with his head still clutched in his hands. "Sorry, Anderson-Senpai. 'Taker's head is really hard and it hit me like a bowling ball. I'll...I'll clean it up..."  
  
"Not a worry, son," said Lawrence patiently. "I can imagine what must have happened and you look a bit green. Why don't you go and rest with your mentor while I take care of this?"  
  
He helped Ronald back to his feet. "Have you slept at all since you last parted ways with them?"  
  
"Not a wink," admitted the boy with a sigh.   
  
"Then go and get some now and when you wake up, I insist that you eat something."  
  
Ronald nodded painfully and he trudged after the mortician and his burden to the stairs. 

 

* * *

 

Grell opened his eyes gradually, his head hurt and so did his eyes. But a smile quickly found its way to his lips as he looked up into the welcoming grin on his lover's face.  
  
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He whispered. Grell didn't remember collapsing or what he had been saying just prior to passing out. He could remember sitting down and the name Garrison, but as to what he had been about to ask. No, the question was now gone.   
  
"You look so solemn. Why?" He asked raising his arm and touching the Undertaker's cheek. "I get the feeling I fainted. I can't remember what I was saying."  
  
The ancient hesitated, worried he might trigger Grell again if he told him. He couldn't bring himself to lie, though. With a glance over at Ronald—who was now curled up with his shoes off on the other side of the bed, he spoke in a soft whisper. "You fainted when we were discussing the true identity of Lloyd Garrison, my dear. He's actually Thanatos; one of the first of our kind, along with myself. He and Wundt are going by different names these days, like I've been. I...think I should try to explain it all to you as best I can, if you feel up to it. Just mind Ronnie over there beside you; lil' fellow nearly knocked himself trying to get to you as the same time as me and he's pooped."   
  
Grell rotated his neck and glanced at the sleeping blond. He smiled wistfully before turning back to the Undertaker. "We can go somewhere else to talk. I'll be fine." He whispered, but then he thought of something better. "Actually why don't you and I head on over to my place? The others can follow, when Ronnie wakes up. I am sure a couple of hours will be alright. We might even be back before he wakes. Besides, Wundt...yes, he may eventually come there looking for me, but I highly doubt he will just yet. He doesn't want to get caught. He wouldn't jeopardize his position by being careless."  
  
"You seem to have a good handle on his personality," mused Undertaker softly. "But I think Wundt may be more eager and desperate to get his hands on you again than you give him credit for. We'll go with your idea, darlin', but let's not linger at your place for too terribly long. He's sure to have someone watching it in case you return, and if he's got Dispatch convinced you're rogue again, they'll probably be watching for you as well. I'm not usually the most cautious bloke in the world, but I think we should grab your essentials and get out before trouble can come a-knocking."  
  
"I don't plan on lingering there any longer than necessary, but there is something very important that I need." Grell replied, sitting up. He grinned at the silver-haired reaper. "We'll be as fast as possible. I promise. Also I have many articles of clothing designed for a lady, so I could really use those. Speaking of which..." Grell glanced down at the robe and gown he was wearing. "Whose clothes are these?"  
  
"That would be Moira," answered Khronos. "Anderson's sister; otherwise known as Atropos. Might as well inform you of that now, before we leave. Lawrence is actually Moros, by the way."  
  
Grell grabbed the Undertaker's arms. His iris' expanded and he stared unblinking. "What did you just say? It sounded like you said Atropos. I must be hearing things. Anderson said he...wait... Moros? Ancients? Anderson?"   
  
The room spun and he leaned forward, resting his head against Khronos' chest. "Am I still dreaming?"  
  
Undertaker put his arms around the distraught reaper supportively. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said regretfully, "and I'm sorry I never sat down for a chat with you about this before. I'd planned to spill the beans eventually about my origins and the other ancients, but I never foresaw this happening. Hmph…some 'god of time' I am, eh?"  
  
He patted Grell's back soothingly. "You reacted oddly when I mentioned Atropos. Does that mean something particularly special to you, lovely?"  
  
Grell raised his head and nodded. "She's the mother of my mothers. A great-grandmother of mine. I'm the last of her descendants. The only living pure-blood left from her bloodline." He trembled as he spoke. A tear snuck out of the corner of his right eye. "I couldn't tell you. I didn't know how to."  
  
It was Undertaker's turn to be stunned. "Well then, that might just explain how you manage to do your chameleon tricks. I had no idea, pet! That's…that's amazing!"  
  
He started to laugh. He couldn't really help it. Ronald groaned and rolled over in the bed, blindly reaching for a throw pillow and chucking it in Undertaker's general direction. "Trying t' sleep, here!"  
  
The mortician muffled his snickers, and he put an arm around Grell to guide him out of the room. "Ah, mercy," he said once they were in the hallway with the door shut behind them. "Forgive me, Grell. I just had no idea and the irony of it was too much for me."  
  
He grinned at his lover, still amazed but not doubting him. "I'll tell you what; I'll go and see if your grand-mummy's up and you can meet her. She needs to come with us anyway and I know she'll only protect you more fiercely if she knows that you're kin."  
  
"What?" Grell asked surprised. "What do you mean see if my 'grand-mummy's' up? She...you... How? She's here?"  
  
"I can't handle all of this." Grell mumbled as he backed from the Undertaker and pressed his back to the wall of the hallway. His head started to ache, so he reached up and began to message his temples. "I can't. I can't meet her like this. Please take me home? Let me be me, when I meet her."  
  
Undertaker's smile faded. "Ah, darlin', I wish I could change you into your old self again, but I haven't the talent. She's already seen you like this, you know. Moira helped me sort out the records. If it weren't for her and Lawrence, I might have failed to bring you back."  
  
"But that wasn't me." Grell pointed out as he pushed away from the wall. He looked down the hall towards the staircase., then back to the Undertaker. "I can't. I have to go home. I need to see myself when I look in the mirror. If you...if you won't take me."  
  
He started backing towards the staircase. "I have to go..."   
  
Grell spun around and ran for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He didn't stop until he reached the door. He threw it open and took off down the walkway. Never looking back, he headed for the street, turning in the direction of the grand library, where he knew a hot spot for creating portals to the mortal realm was.   
  
 _~I'm sorry, Khronos.~_  
  
Undertaker stood there with his jaw hanging open. "Did...he just run away from me?"

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

The mirror was a long oval, framed in cherry wood. Roses carved into its polished surface. Grell stood before it, nearly naked. The black robe he was wearing hung open and down his arms. He had already retrieved his spell book and transformed his hair back to its natural crimson colour. His eyes were back to their reaper two-toned green, though his vision remained altered. He also chose to leave his teeth straight. Now he could not help but stare at his female body. He found he could not touch his breasts. It was awkward and strange. Almost as though it was not his body. He had dreamt his entire life, wondering what it would be like to have a woman’s body. A body to match the reaper he was inside. And he wondered if he could accept this new version of himself. A body he had not chosen or been a part of creating. This was a form thrust upon him, against his will.

A tear ran down his cheek.  
  
He turned his head to the door of his privy as it began to creak open. Quickly, he pulled the robe up and closed, concealing his altered body.  
  
“Khronos?”

A familiar silver head peeked in. “Grell? That you, darlin’?” He had the irrational fear that he’d somehow stuffed up and Celeste was back in control of the redhead’s body.

Grell nodded and looked down at his feet. Strangely, he pulled the robe tighter across his body, seeing it was Khronos at the door. He wasn’t sure if he was ashamed or afraid of his new body, but he was not yet ready for Khronos to see him nude. He was uncertain as to how his lover would react to seeing him in this state, this form. True, Khronos had seen the tops of his breasts when he had woken up, in his arms. But he had been wearing a nightgown at the time and was less vulnerable. Now the only thing providing him cover was the robe and it was not tied.

Undertaker opened the door and walked in, worry and relief at war on his pale, scarred face. “I’m not going to bother telling you what a bloody fright you gave me, rushing off like that without waiting for at least me to come with you. You’re vulnerable to Hypnos, love. If it bothered you that much, you could have…oh, never mind.”

He stopped before him and he looked him up and down. “My, you look like yourself again! Well, except for some obvious differences, but still…my Grell.”

He smiled, but the concern was still apparent in his eyes. He cupped Grell’s chin to urge him to look up at him. “You all right? You aren’t injured, are you?”

"I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t mean to just up and run, but you…you wouldn’t listen." Grell replied as he gazed into his lover’s eyes. "I needed this. My home. Please try and understand?"

Khronos cupped his angular face in his hands and he smiled. “I do. I’m just worried, is all. If I thought it was safe for you here, I wouldn’t be such a ninny about it.”

He bent his head and kissed Grell tenderly on the lips. “Just don’t want to see them get their hands on you again. I already failed you once.”

"You haven’t failed me, Khronos. I did. Years ago. when I let myself get carried away, believing if I ever got caught, I would just be reprimanded and sent on my way. I should have known better. I put myself in Wundt’s hands."  
  
Grell gazed into his lover’s eyes. He didn’t believe that Khronos had ever failed him. Quite the opposite, actually. Khronos had saved him in more ways than one. Carefully, he let go of the robe with one hand and placed it over his lover’s heart.  
  
“Kiss me.”

The ancient readily obliged, putting his arms around Grell and holding him close as he claimed his lips again. He started with gentle pressure, mindful not to get too aggressive. His rose was in a fragile state of mind—even more so than before—and he’d come to mean too much to him for Khronos to risk bruising or tearing the petals further.

"Mmm…" Grell softly moaned as his lips began to part. Slowly, he slid his hand up Khronos’ chest, until it found its way to the back of his neck. The kiss grew more passionate as their tongues collided and danced. It caused a strange new sensation at the apex of his new sex and he started to ache between his legs. Startled by the odd feeling, he broke the kiss and backed away. Frightened, he looked up at Khronos and bit his bottom lip.

"What’s the matter, love?" Undertaker didn’t advance on him, fearful of provoking him to rush off again. "Did I move too fast?" His normally lazy green-yellow eyes were genuinely concerned beneath the parted fringe of his pale bangs.

"No." Grell shook his head. "I…it’s just…"  
  
Turning away from the Undertaker, Grell wrapped his arms around his waist. He stared at the wall of his private bath chamber. “I’ve never felt like that before. It feels strange and different.” He shook his head again as he looked down. “I…this body…I don’t know…will you…”

Undertaker came up behind him, and he reached out to stroke his hair.

"Love, I’ve told you before that I don’t care what form you take." He slowly put his arms around him, and he kissed the side of Grell’s neck. "Male…female…I don’t care. You are Grell. You accepted me…loved me even though I have no idea what I’m trying to do most of the time…"

Khronos laughed softly at that, and he hugged Grell closer. “No matter what, you are my Grell.”

Grell laid his head back against his shoulder. He let his eyes close and placed his hands over Khronos’ hands at his waist. “Am I?” Grell asked, smiling.  
  
Then the image of waking up in the trunk flashed behind his lowered eyelids. He trembled slightly. “I was so scared, Khronos. Scared I would never see you again.” He confessed, opening his eyes, banishing the images from his mind. “I thought I would be taken from you forever. And then I woke this afternoon and you were there, holding me. I was in your arms, safe.”

The mortician stroked his hair soothingly. “And I’ll do my best to keep you safe from here on out, love. I just wish I’d been able to prevent this from happening to you at all.”

He lowered his head and tipped Grell’s chin up to kiss him softly again. His body began to shamelessly react to the feel of Grell’s lips against his…the feel of his new feminine curves pressing up against him. He took a deep breath and he stepped back a little, worried that Grell would notice the growing bulge in his pants. “Sorry, dearest. I’m trying to be a gentleman and I’m not quite managing.”

Grell turned and looked up. His lips parted slightly as his eyes searched Khronos’ face. He shivered from the lack of contact with him. “No…don’t be,” whispered the redhead, almost desperate.  
  
He took a step forward. The robe he was wearing parted, revealing a glimmer of his newly formed breasts. He slid his hands up his lover’s torso. Up and around his neck, to the back of his head. Grell rose up onto his toes, causing his breasts to brush along the fabric of the Undertaker’s shirt. The feeling was erotic and new to the redhead. It was tantalizing and arousing. A surprised gasp fell from his lips. His flesh heated and his pulse quickened. Grell’s eyes smoldered and his bottom lip quivered. He leaned into his lover, pressing their bodies together. Their lips were just a breath apart.

Khronos swallowed, his pulse quickening. He forgot all about the last time this feminine body was pressed up against him this way. This was Grell now…the one he wanted so much. He closed the distance between their lips, and he hesitantly slipped his hands into the robe to embrace his lover and draw her closer. Yes, it was just as exciting to hold Grell in this form as it had been in the original male form. His swelling groin pressed against the other reaper’s lower abdomen as he kissed her. He couldn’t help but think of Grell as “her” now, with all those curves flush against his body.

The strange ache reemerged between Grell’s legs. Instinctively he rubbed his new sex against the hard bulge that had developed in the Undertaker’s trousers. Hungrily, he plunged his tongue into his lover’s mouth. His long, slender legs wrapped around Khronos’ waist as he was lifted off the floor. He clung to the ancient, moaning. His fingers dug into the back of his silver covered skull. He was on fire, burning, desperate.

Though he knew that they should finish gathering whatever Grell wanted to bring with her and leave this place, Khronos could not bring himself to let go of her. He supported her bottom as their tongues fenced, and he started carrying her to the master bedroom. Different body or not, his desire for Grell hadn’t waned, and they’d been separated for too long for his liking. He’d really feared Grell might be lost to him for good, when Thanatos changed him and hid away his soul inside the soul of another.

"Grell," he murmured against the hot, eager mouth kissing his. Instinct took over as he passed through the hallway with him and brought him into the bedroom. Common sense had no place in this moment. There was only a burning need to be with the one he loved…to re-affirm their connection with each other.

Grell broke the kiss and swiped the bangs back out of his lover’s eyes. He stared back into them, getting lost in them. “Khronos-love,” he breathed. “I need you…sweet death…I need. Heaven can burn….and Hell can freeze. Just…don’t…”  
  
Those lips like wine. Grell couldn’t finish what he was saying. No, he had to have another sip of his lover’s sweet nectar. His mouth covered Khronos’ mouth once more as he drank greedily.

Undertaker gladly kissed her back, and he laid her down on the big, extravagant bed. The robe that Grell was wearing fell open, and the mortician took a moment to gaze down at the porcelain perfection of her nudity. Firm, full breasts with lovely pink nipples, a delicate netting of crimson hair framing the loins, soft little tummy and long legs…Grell was more than lovely as a woman—just as he’d been more than lovely as a man. The kisses were a bit different due to the shape of the teeth, but the passion behind them was the same.

Khronos pressed a thigh between her legs and he decided to introduce Grell to this new body in the best way possible. He lowered his mouth to her left breast and he circled the nipple with his tongue, cupping the breast itself with his hand. He rubbed his thigh against Grell’s loins as he pleasured the sensitive flesh with lips and tongue, wanting his lover to experience every pleasure he could give her.

"Khronos." Grell moaned as he closed his eyes and his head pressed into the mattress. His mind began to race with questions. He let go of Khronos’ hair and pushed at his shoulders instead. "Khronos?! Khronos?!"  
  
Fear welled up in the redhead. This was a new body. A body he had never made love in. Everything was new about it. He was a virgin for the second time in his life. What if it hurt? It had been over a century since he lay with a man for the first time, but he had been physically male as well. Now, now he was physically a woman and it would be the first time he lay with a man as such.  
  
Grell swallowed hard and looked up at at Khronos. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

Undertaker stopped, breathing heavily as he looked down at Grell. He smiled soothingly, misunderstanding the reason behind the expressed fear. “You’re safe now, darlin’. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Shaking his head, Grell replied. “No. Not that. This. Making love.” He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows. A blush painted his cheeks. “I’m…I’m a woman now. And a…a virgin again.” His eyes darted back and forth searching Khronos’ “Will it…will it hurt?”

"Oh." Undertaker felt stupid for not having considered that. But was Grell’s female body actually virginal? The thought of Thanatos violating it while he had Grell under his spell made him feel sick to his stomach. He forced a smile for Grell’s sake and he kissed her.

"There might be a moment of pain, my dear. It won’t last long, and we don’t have to make love now if you aren’t ready."

Grell reached up and touched his cheek. He nodded and smiled. “I want this. I want you. I’m just anxious. I’ve never made love like this and I don’t know quite what to expect.”

The mortician caressed Grell’s face. “Then let me worry about what to do, love. All you need to do is feel and relax. I love you, Grell.”

"I love you too, Khronos." Grell whispered back. He nodded once as he slipped his hand behind the ancient’s neck and urged him forward so there lips could meet. His eyes fluttered closed as the pink flesh of their lips touched. Tenderly, they pressed together, and Grell moaned once more.

Caught up in the longing he’d been feeling since Grell was taken from him, Undertaker curled his tongue against Grell’s and he slid his hand over her ribs. He hadn’t been with a woman since his last lover, and he hoped that he could recall how to please a female body well enough to make this encounter good for Grell. Despite the burning need he felt, he took his time. He ran his fingers lightly over the soft, fair skin and he rubbed his leg against Grell’s thigh, his hair falling forward to tickle the altered reaper’s skin. His mouth left Grell’s to kiss its way down her throat, his tongue tracing patterns over the skin as he went. He briefly cupped the side of one of her breasts, but he refrained from squeezing or fondling it again just yet. He didn’t want to startle his love again.

Grell’s fingers tangled with Undertaker’s soft silver locks. His lips falling apart as more moans bubbled to the surface. He opened his eyes briefly, glancing at his canopy. The touch of Khronos’ hand on his breast sent shock waves of pleasure throughout his body and he pressed further into his large hand.  
  
“Khronos…my sweet.” he whispered as the ache between his legs grew more desperate. It was reminiscent of being aroused as a man, but more powerful. His muscles pulsated between his thighs. It was a strange ache, yet he didn’t want it to stop. Grell twisted his body ever so slightly and his hips rose from the bed on their own accord. In doing so, his sex brushed his lover’s thigh and a new wave of pleasure assailed him. It was not so dissimilar to when he had rubbed himself against Khronos’ erection in the bathroom. His body was longing to be touched, to be assuaged.

"Oh, love," murmured the ancient, his body singing with need at the sweet, soft declaration. He brushed his lips against the swell of Grell’s other breast, and he slid his hand back down to stroke her hip. "I’ve missed you terribly, my dear…so terribly."

He began to shed his own clothing as he kissed and caressed Grell, manipulating the buckles on his boots first to slide them off, then working free of his robes and shirt. The pants eventually followed until Undertaker was completely nude, with only his beads still adorning him. He curved his hand inward to caress the inside of one pale, creamy thigh and he dared to circle Grell’s rosy nipple with his tongue. Hoping it wouldn’t come as a great shock to the altered reaper again, he took the bud between his lips and he gently sucked on it, flicking his tongue over it to pleasure it.

The redhead gasped and arched his back, pressing his head back into the pillows. He’d always been rather sensitive in that area, but now it seemed even more so. He felt the exploring hand curve around from his hip to his pelvis, and he whimpered. He was confused by all the new sensations he was experiencing, but he trusted Khronos…wanted to be with him again.  
  
“You’re still my Grell,” whispered the ancient reassuringly as he stroked his palm over the red thatch of hair between his lover’s thighs. He slid his middle finger down to stroke between the folds of veiled flesh, seeking out the swollen little bud crowning them. He fondled it gently and he swallowed Grell’s swift gasp of surprised pleasure in a kiss, not halting his loving actions.  
  
Grell squirmed uncontrollably, his thigh muscles flexed on their own accord as Khronos’ touch gave him little thrills of pleasure that felt like jolts of electricity surging through his body. The inner core of his new genitals quivered and clenched, and he ran his foot up along his lover’s side before hooking it over his hip.  
  
“Munhh! Khronos…ahh…feels so…” Grell could not describe it; not in one word. This new form of stimulation was both, frightening and exhilarating. He marveled and savored each stroke of the Undertaker’s hand. It was an overwhelming plethora of sensations that he couldn’t quite keep up with. His lover’s persistent kisses began to drift lower again, and Grell began to tense when that mouth began to meander below the navel.  
  
“D-darling?” Grell said nervously when the ancient pushed his thighs apart and licked the insides of them. He raised his head from the pillows and looked down the length of his body. But all he could see was a mass of silver hair between he spread thighs. He began to tense again and he bit his lip anxiously…and yet he was curious. What would it feel like to be pleasured that way, in this—  
  
He never got to finish his thought, because Undertaker’s tongue began to trace the soft lips he’d spread with his fingers, and then it licked slowly over the sensitive head of Grell’s clit. Eyes wide with shock, Grell’s head fell back on the pillow again and all he could do was moan. Oh dear gods; it was just as wonderful this way as it had been in his previous body. Grell whimpered and his hand tightened into a fist around the pillow his head lay against, his legs parting further as the mortician’s lips and tongue worked magic on his senses.

Khronos took his time with it, lovingly giving his full attention to his companion’s most sensitive areas. If he could not undo what “Garrison” had done, he could at least show his lover that there was as much pleasure to be had in this body as his previous one. He kept mixing up gender pronouns in his head as he licked and sucked Grell’s clit and the velvety tissue accompanying it. Perhaps it should feel strange to him, but he’d already considered the redhead a lady before, and he hadn’t fibbed when he said he could love her no matter what form he took.

He delved his tongue between the folds, entering her shallowly as he reached up with one hand to fondle the taut nipples one at a time. He was throbbing; aching with need to be one with her again. This was so much healthier than his misplaced lust for the poor mortal that had briefly inhabited this body, and he put Celeste out of his mind for the sake of living in the now with the reaper he’d fallen so hard for. He purred when Grell’s fingers tangled into his hair and pulled, refusing to stop. The redhead’s trembling hand stopped tugging at his hair, soft pleas issuing from her lips as his tender ministrations brought her closer to the precipice. He had no intention of ceasing until this sweet, lovely body was trembling all over with the final bliss of climax.

"Khronos?!" Grell exclaimed. This was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He twisted violently against the intrusion, tugging harder on the mortician’s hair. Part of him cried out to stop this sweet torment and the other was crying for more. Is this what women experienced every time? He couldn’t help but think that and he also wondered if that were true, how did they survive? He felt like he was either going to die or his spirit would be yanked out his body.  
  
“I can’t breathe, Khronos. Feels…feels like… Ahhh! Khronos!” the redhead screamed.  
  
The muscles surrounding his lover’s tongue contracted and flexed, squeezing tight. The world went black as his whole body convulsed and his spirit took flight. His body twitched for a moment and then slowly he began to return to his body as his spirit floated back down into him. His fingers uncurled and started to let go of the mortician’s hair, when his tongue flicked out again, striking Grell’s clit. The redhead tried to role onto his side, his legs wanting to close. It felt like he was zapped by surge of electricity.  
  
Grell cursed from the shock, “Holy fucking Angels!”

Undertaker couldn’t help but laugh at the exclamation, his breath huffing over the sensitized flesh he’d been favoring. Oh yes, Grell was ready for him. He left off his loving attentions to that area for now, understanding that there was such a thing as too much stimulation. He scooted up and stretched out on top of his lover, gazing into the eyes that were so familiar to him with a smile.

"I enjoyed doing that for you, love," he said sincerely, and then he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. While Grell was still distracted from the experience, he nudged into her gently, easing his cock in with care until it met with resistance. "Hold tight to me," he breathed against the other reaper’s panting lips. "It’ll be over with quickly…I promise."

With that husky vow uttered, he drove swiftly deeper, not wishing to prolong the discomfort by breaking the maidenhead too slowly. He muffled Grell’s surprised cry of pain with a kiss, holding still to give her body a chance to adjust to the breach.

Grell’s eyes went wide with pain and fear, his entire body going stiff and tense. His natural instinct was to try and get the Undertaker from him. And he began to slap his back and shoulders. He would have screamed, but the retired reaper had his mouth covered, muffling any screams that dared to pass his quivering lips. He knew there would be some discomfort. Undertaker had said there would be, but nothing could have truly prepared him for how it would really feel. There were no words that could describe the pain exactly. To him it felt as though his flesh had been stabbed and torn to shreds between his legs. A dribble of blood seeped from his lady entrance and burned as it passed over the ripped skin.  
  
Unable to move the older reaper, Grell squeezed his eyes shut, a tear snuck out of the corner of one of them. He was finally able to unlock their lips and bit down on Khronos’ shoulder, clinging to him.  
  
“Don’t move, please don’t move?” He cried out against his lover’s heated flesh.

Feeling awful, the silver reaper stayed perfectly still and he kissed away Grell’s tears. “I’m sorry, love. I…it’s been a long time since…well, I haven’t been with…oh, rot take me for hurting you.”

He nuzzled the panting redhead’s cheek, planting soft kisses there as he waited for the pain to lessen for him.

"I d-didn’t expect that. Knocked my breath out of m-me. I k-know it’s not y-you’re fault." Grell sniffled. He could tell Khronos felt awful for hurting him, but it had to be done, didn’t it? He would never be able to make love with Khronos again, without piercing his maiden head. There was no way around it. But now the fear of it hurting again troubled him and he found himself asking, "K-Khronos? Will it h-hurt every time we make l-love, now?"

The ancient shook his head. “Not at all, sweet rose. Just this one time and it ought to feel better for you soon.” He kissed more tears from Grell’s face, then the tip of the pert little nose. “And if it doesn’t, then we’ll stop. I don’t want to cause you pain, my dear.”

Grell nodded as he slowly began to relax and lay his head back down upon the pillow beneath his head. He stared back up and Khronos and swallowed. “The sting and the cramping is-is letting up, b-but I’m scared. What if it starts to hurt when y-you move again?”

Undertaker smiled. “Then I won’t move until you tell me too, darlin’.” He lowered his face to Grell’s and he kissed her softly. “This is my promise.”

Eye lids fluttering closed, Grell’s grip on The Undertaker’ shoulders started to relax along with his body as he began to settle into kissing his lover once more. His lips slowly parted and welcomed Khronos’ tongue to meld with his own. A soft whimper of contentment passed between them as his hips moved slightly, indicating his body was ready to continue on with their lovemaking.

Khronos lifted his head to gaze down at the beauty lying beneath him, wary of moving too soon. “How is it, my dear? I won’t give you more until you ask for it.”

Grell slowly reopened his eyes and peered back at Khronos. “Be gentle, but…but I think I am ready. I-I’ll say something, I promise, if I need to stop.”

Khronos smiled softly, and he withdrew slowly with care. “All right, m’dear.” He purred with delight as he slowly drove back in. “Mmm…nice and slow. How does that feel?”

"Mmm…" Grell hummed as he felt his lover reenter his body. His breath caught for a moment, but his new body took over and quickly, he relaxed. He stared unblinking up at Khronos as he slowly breathed out and nodded. "Just a tad bit of discomfort, but no…no pain."

It was on the tip of Undertaker’s tongue to thank the gods for that, but he was too distracted by the pleasure, and the look on Grell’s face. It was a different experience for both of them to make love this way…different, yet no less intoxicating. He pumped again, keeping his motions smooth, slow and cautious at first. “Oh, darlin’ lil’ rose,” he gasped, his pelvic motions slowly picking up speed.

As the friction of their bodies grew more intense, so did the pleasure—the type of pleasure Grell was more accustomed to. Gradually, he began to slide his legs up along the mortician’s sides. This allowed Khronos to dive deeper within him. A thin layer of perspiration formed across his brow, strands of fire sticking to his warm, wet flesh.  
  
“Khronos,” he breathed, his heart pumping harder. “Nngh.”

Growing more excited by the moment as the pleasure of their union mounted, the ancient hissed softly and drove himself deeper…harder. He groaned at the sensation, fighting his own desperate need so as not to cause any further pain to his companion.

"Missed you, lover," he panted, his hard length pumping with steady deliberation inside the altered reaper. "Never again…I’ll never let them take you from me again…ahh…oh, bloody hell!"

He was getting close already, his body and heart deprived of this contact for longer than it should have been. Determined to make it last, he slowed his thrusts a bit and he kissed Grell’s panting lips, supporting his upper body with one arm so that he could fondle a breast.

Grell’s eyes drifted closed and a soft whimper filtered past hips lips at the stimulating touch to his breast. At first it was odd to be touched as so and now, Grell welcomed it.  
  
His hands wandered from his lover’s shoulders to the back of his head and tangled with his silver locks once more. He could feel something growing intensely within him. It wasn’t quite like he was used to, but he could swear it had to be his orgasm. His first vaginal orgasm. Shocked by the revelation, he released the hold on Undertaker’s head and looked up at him, breaking the kiss.  
  
“I’m going to… ahh… Khronos. I’m close.” He gulped, then moaned.

The ancient pumped faster again, unable to stop the tide from washing over him. “Grell,” he moaned. “Ah, gods…so wonderful…love you…”

He felt the inner spasms begin as he eased his lover into climax, and he somehow managed to keep going as the no longer virginal passage clenched around his thrusting length. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He’d needed this so much, and having it again was like being taken straight to Heaven.

Grell’s hips lifted off the mattress, just a hair as he was tossed into ecstasy’s embrace. His orgasm crashed over him like a wave crashing over the rocks at sea. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed out his lover’s name. He held tightly to Khronos’ body, squeezing him with his legs. That feeling of leaving his body returning as his mind went black. The feel of Undertaker’s thrusts fighting against his clenching muscles, pushed him deeper into the orgasmic abyss. Then for the second time, that strange moment once more, where he could swear his heart stopped beating and his lungs froze as his body reached the crescendo.  
  
“Khronos!” He screamed out as the air returned to his motionless lungs. As his chest expanded his entire body quivered as tiny jolts of electricity zipped this way and that, throughout his body. His vaginal muscles flexing and relaxing all around Khronos’ driving cock.

Trembling with the effort to hold his own orgasm at bay, the ancient clenched his jaw and bowed his head. He couldn’t manage more than a few sharp, hard thrusts before he lost his tenuous hold on his passion. He went taut all over and he shuddered, blurting Grell’s name into his ear as he bucked inside of him, spilling himself with a moan. He held still as he came hard, pressing gasping kisses against the other reaper’s sweating face.

"Ah, darlin’," he managed after grunting and straining for nearly a full minute. He ran his tongue over the redhead’s lips, tracing them lovingly. He stayed wedged inside as he began to soften, his lust sated for now. "Just as lovely as it ever was."

"Khronos…" Grell sighed as he slipped his hands up behind the older reaper’s neck, nudging him to lower his head. His eyes closed as their mouths became one. Not wanting to loose the connection of their bodies fused together, Grell wrapped his legs around Khronos’ waist, cradling him within.

"I hope it wasn’t too terribly unpleasant in the beginning," murmured the ancient between kisses. "I’m afraid it’s been some time since I was last with a virgin of either gender, love. I tried to be gentle with you."

Grell shook his head, “No. I wasn’t expecting it to feel so…so intense. It hurt, but it was worth it to be with you, my love. I would endure it a thousand times over just to be one with you.”  
  
Smiling, Grell gently combed his fingers through the mortician’s hair. It had begun to tangle and he loved feeling the silver locks skim over the surface of his hand.  
  
“I love how silky your hair is. It’s so soft and I missed touching it.” He looked downcast as his voice grew quiet. “I missed you so much.”

Rather than get into a fracas over who missed whom the most, Undertaker just smiled. He brushed his lips over the soft, supple skin of his lover’s face and neck, reveling in the feel of being so intimate with this soul again. True, the feminine curves were different from what he was used to with Grell, but the passionate spirit was one and the same.

 

* * *

 

Ronald yawned and stretched, rolling over blissfully in the large, comfy bed as the late morning sunlight beamed in through a split in the curtains. “Mmm, like a cloud,” he mumbled. “Ain’t this the nicest bed you ever…uh…Senpai?”

He lifted his head off the pillow and blinked, and he reached for his glasses on the nightstand when he realized that Grell was no longer beside him in any form. “Ohm…whazzat? Okay, no panick…gimme sec,” he muttered to himself, his words incoherent with sleep. He got out of the bed—still fully clothed but for his shoes—and he began to stumble through the house to try and find his mentor.

"Good morning. Mister Knox, I presume?" The sweet, soft sound of Moira’s voice wafted down the hall as she watched the young reaper come bounding into the hall. She had just emerged from her brother’s room, revitalized from her long sleep.  
  
She couldn’t remember much—only that Khronos had begun to loose control of the mortal’s and Grell’s cinematic records. She could not be sure, but she believed she must have used her powers to calm them, which in turn must have drained her. When she woke, she found herself lying in the middle of Lawrence’s bed and not in her own. She could imagine he must have slept in the guest room, that was of course if all had gone right with the abstraction of the records. Concerned, she had climbed from the bed and opened the door. She was just in time to see the young blond she assumed was the young reaper her brother mentioned the night before, come stumbling from her bedroom.

Ronald rubbed his eyes and stared at her. “Whoa. I mean…hi!” He smiled at her and he combed his fingers through his hair, trying his best to look charming. He knew he was missing the mark, but this lady was way too pretty to not at least make a token effort. “So ya know me, huh? Man, am I sorry I missed meeting you!”

_~Okay…chill Knoxy. Down boy. Not cool.~_

Taking his ever distracted mind’s advice, the young agent leaned back against the wall and he recalled why he was there to begin with. “Soooo, um…have you seen Grell and Undy around? I…um…I’m sorry but I don’t know your name.”

_~Gosh, she’s pretty.~_

Smiling out of the corner of her mouth, Moira sauntered over to the youngling and held hand her out. “Moira A. Anderson. That’s right. Lawrence is my brother and as for the other two.” She averted her gaze briefly. “I honestly can’t say. You see, I just woke up myself.”

"Y-yeah, I kinda got that impression," Ronald managed to blabber out, trying very hard not to stare at the way her gossamer, floor-length black nightgown draped so elegantly to her pale curves. He impulsively kissed the top of her hand, admiring the slim shape of it and the creamy skin.

"Sorry, I’m still waking up."

_~To a total knockout.~_

Something she said caught his attention, and he tried very hard to think through his rampant and immediate interest in her. “You’re Father Anderson’s sister? I’ve gotta say; you’re a lot more fun to look at…oh shit, I’m sorry.”

He wanted to kick himself. This was not the sort of woman to talk like that around. He could see it in her elegant, classy stance. Statuesque, she stood as a goddess before him and Ronald suffered an attack of uncertainty that was completely out of character for him.

Moira found she rather liked the little flirtation he offered and chuckled, “Why aren’t you the little flirt.” She leaned in and let her breath feather over the ridge of his ear as she whispered, “But I like that.”  
  
Stepping back she winked and then turned towards the stairs. Her hips swayed as she walked. It felt good to be admired. It had been some time since a young man had caught her eye and impressed her. Ronald was most definitely handsome and most certainly charming. She could have some fun with this one.

Ronald stared after her for a while, and once she was down the stairs, he blew a low whistle. “Daaaayyum! H-holy…wait…I was s’posed to be doing something.”

He scratched the back of his head, and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! Grell!”

At once, he felt awful for having let Grell slip his mind. He impulsively started down the stairs after the alluring goddess who’d so easily distracted him. “Wait, Moira!”

It usually took a few times of hearing it before he recalled a girl’s name…but he wasn’t likely to forget hers anytime soon. “Hey,” he said again when he caught up to her, not grabbing her but jumping down in front of her nimbly. “I’m still not clear on what’s going on, but my Senpai is missing and so’s his old man. Any idea where they are?”

Startled, Moira blinked confused at the blond. “Senpai? Old man? Are you referring to Khronos and Grell? Or rather you probably know him better as Undertaker.” She looked back up the staircase, puzzled and then back at the young reaper. “Why dear, they are not with you? When last I was with them…they were in my room.”

"Wait…your room?" Ronald found himself flushing a little. He’d been sleeping in this goddess’ bed without even knowing it. "Uh, well they weren’t there when I woke up. Thought maybe you might have seen ‘em. Damn!"

He sighed and leaned against the wall, recalling fragments of conversation that included Grell’s voice saying he was sorry to the Undertaker. “I think…maybe…Grell skipped out and ‘Taker must have gone to follow him. I’m…kind of a professional sleeper, so I thought it was just a dream.”

He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the alluring female before him. He’d never been around a woman that met his eyes so directly without blushing. “Sorry ma’am…er…lady? Miss Moira? I dunno what t’ call ya.”

Feeling flustered, he tried to pull his thoughts together. “I’ve kind of gotta track them down to make sure they’re all right. Senpai’s been through enough and ‘Taker’s pretty out there on his best days.”

He sighed, again wondering why it always seemed to fall on him to watch over his own elders. “Man, I’m really not the best guy for this sort of thing.”

"Moira." She replied firmly. "Just call me Moira and lets find my brother. Maybe they are on the deck in the back. I am sure he is with them or knows where they have gone to. Regrettably, I don’t know Grell. I have never met him before. And technically still haven’t as the last I remember, his body had been transformed and a mortal was occupying it."

Ronald sighed…and not just because of his disappointment that she didn’t know the whereabouts of his mentor, but because she was just so…pretty. “Guess I should try checking the porch, then. Sorry to be so uncool around you, Moira. I’m just worried.”

He managed a grin for her and a little wink. “But I’ll get my game on once I wake up a little more. It’s probably nothing, right?”

With that said, he jumped the rest of the way down the stairs, his bare feet smacking against the floor before he took off to go and check said deck.

Moira shook her head and laughed. “What an odd reaper.”  
  
She stepped onto the ground floor and followed in the blond’s wake, heading also towards the kitchen and then the patio. Surely her brother would be up and about.  
  
“Lawrence?!” She hollered as she rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. “Where are you? I and Mister Knox need you to answer us some questions.”

The ancient in question muttered into his pillow. Upon recognizing his sister’s voice, he waved an arm and mentally communicated with her, giving her permission to come into the guest bedroom he’d lain down in. He’d worn himself out quite a bit too, and upon realizing that Grell was in fact of their direct bloodline, he’d decided to take a little nap when his guests retired.

Yawning, he sat up and he checked to be sure his blue satin pajamas were in order. Ever the proper man, he wouldn’t even expose himself to his own sister’s view if he could help it. The door to his chambers opened a few moments later and he motioned for Moira to come in.

"Pardon me, but I felt the need for a rest myself," he excused. "Do come in so that we can talk."

She nodded and closed the door behind her. “Mister Knox is running hither and yonder in search of his friend and the old coot. What is going on around here, Lawrence? I am confused.”

She stopped just short of the bed and placed her hands on her hips. “I return home for a rest and discover Khronos under a skirt. Only to discover that it is a mortal trapped in a reaper’s body. I find the poor chit yanking her hair out—that doesn’t even belong to her. Khronos runs off and then I have to use powers I don’t like using to keep us all from falling victim to hostile records. I demand to know what I have been dragged through.”

Anderson woke up more at the news, and he raised a brow at her, utterly confused. Rather than ask for the details concerning his old friend under a skirt—seeing as he knew the history behind the female body in question and the souls inhabiting it—he chose to cut to the chase. “That reaper we assisted Khronos in mending is in fact one of your grandchildren, Moira. As for the rest…did you just tell me that Khronos has gone off somewhere again? Without Grell?”

"I’m not sure." She huffed. "Mister Knox says they are bo… Wait what did you just say? Did you just say that poor creature, that was bound in his own body, is my grandchild? Oh, Lawrence!" She exclaimed as she lowered herself to the bed, feeling light headed.

"I would have told you sooner," he explained, "but you needed your rest. Where are they, if not in this house?"

"That is what I cam here to ask you. Would you happen to know where they might run off to? I am afraid I don’t know Grell and well Khronos… I can’t remember the last time we had seen each other. That was eons ago. I know he has a shop in the heart of London. Would he have returned there, brother?" Moira twisted her body and looked back at her brother. "Surely you have some idea, don’t you?"

Anderson considered it. “I can think of only one place they might have rushed off to…but it makes no sense, with both of them knowing the danger…”

He stood up, troubled. “We’d best rule it out. I think we should both get dressed and accompany Mister Knox to Mister Sutcliff’s home. Perhaps they went there to fetch a few things he needs, but I’d rather not take the chance that the enemy might find them. Khronos is good, but I don’t believe he could fend off both Hypnos and Thanatos on his own…and Grell is in no condition to fight as efficiently as he once did.”

"Based on what you just said. I shall take it my grandchild lives in the mortal realm? As I would also assume, Thanatos and Hypnos would be crazy to return to this realm. This means I am going to have don one of those corsets, doesn’t it?" She stood and sighed. "I just hate ladies’ fashions these days, but I can’t very well show up on the door step, in the mortal realm, wearing clothing from our world. I am going to need a moment to change."  
  
She walked to the door and paused. “You go and fetch Mister Knox and get him prepared, and I shall meet you in half hour’s time down here.”

 

* * *

 

"So can we go now?" Ronald was looking frazzled. The poor lad’s hair was mussed and to Anderson’s surprised, he produced a pack of cigarettes from his blazer and he tapped one out of the package.

"What do you think you’re doing?" demanded Lawrence as the blond stuck the cigarette between his lips and fished around for a lighter.

Ron paused. “Stress relief, what’s it look like? It’s not like reapers can get cancer. What, you don’t want me smoking on your deck? Hey!”

Lawrence knocked the cigarette out of Ronald’s mouth, directly into the duck pond. “It isn’t the location I object to, but the fact that you smoke at all. You’re too young for that, and it will yellow your teeth.”

Ronald’s brows shot up. “B-but you smoke a pipe! I see you doing it all the time!”

"I’m an elder," reminded Lawrence. "You are still a boy. You don’t need yellow teeth."

Ronald compressed his lips with annoyance. “Okay, let’s go with that angle. I’m just a ‘boy’, so why th’ hell do I keep getting stuck taking care of my elders?”

Lawrence smiled fondly at him. “Because you are a loyal boy, who cares for his mentor. From what I understand you were free to refuse involvement when this all began.”

Ronald heaved a sigh and put away the smokes, deciding he’d just wait for a better opportunity when there weren’t any nosey elders around to shake their fingers at him. Usually only a social smoker, it took him a week to get through a pack…but his stress levels were high right now. He was about to say something else when he spotted Moira coming out the door to join them. Suddenly, a cigarette was the last thing on his mind.

"Whoa."

Moira smiled as she stepped out onto the patio deck. Her black hair was pinned up, with tight curls hanging down in the back. A purple silk hat trimmed in black lace that matched her dress adorned her head. A thin, black veil partially hung over her face. Her dress hugged her figure, showing off the hourglass shape of her body. Her corset lifted her bust and exposing the alabaster flesh of her breasts. The silk material of the dress was royal purple color with black lace embroidery, and black buttons ran down the front of her bodice. The sleeves were three quarters length and the skirt was decorated in the center with black lace. The next layer was paneled with dark purple and layered with a black rose print. The bottom was pleated around the ankle. On her wrist was the lead of her matching reticule and she held fast to a matching parasol in her black lace covered hands..  
  
“Gentleman, shall we be off?” She asked as she popped the parasol open.

Ronald nodded dumbly, swallowing. Anderson looked at him, looked at his sister, and hid a smirk behind his gloved fingers. “Yes, let us be off, then.”

He nearly asked Knox if he required a bib, but he didn’t want to embarrass the poor boy by publicly addressing his obviously smitten state. Moira tended to have this effect on men, so it was nothing new to him—particularly with a young reaper who was reputed to be a bit girl crazy.

_~Careful, son. Some of the prettiest creatures in creation are also the deadliest.~_

Not that he believed Moira would ever intentionally hurt the boy, but she’d broken plenty of hearts before without even trying. Shooting her an amused but cautionary look, he began to create the portal that would take them close to Grell’s residency in mortal London.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

"Ugh…Undie?" Grell moaned rolling over. "I’m cold. Want snug…Undie?"

Grell stretched his arm out across the bed where his lover should have been. His hands searched the bed sheets as he struggled to open his sleep sealed eyes. The bed was cool and no longer warm, which meant Khronos had not been there for sometime. Frightened, Grell forced his eyes open and stared at the pillow where the ancient reaper’s head should have been.

“Khronos?” He hollered as he pushed himself up and sat looking around the room. “Khronos, where are you?”

Heart pounding, Grell threw the covers back and jumped out of the bed. He ran to the private water closet, but it too was empty. The room seemed to spin around him as he turned back into the master suit. The sun had risen and flooded his room with bright light. Thinking the mortician missed sleeping in a confined space like his coffins, Grell dropped to his knees and looked under his bed.  
  
“Khronos, where have you gotten off to?” He muttered as he stood having found the bed beneath empty. “Are you in my close…”  
  
He froze when he saw his traveling trunk flipped open on the ground next to his closet. Dresses had been neatly folded and stowed away inside, as well as shoes and his spare bustle and petticoat. His other trunk lay next to it closed. He knelt down and lifted the lid. Inside were the remainder of his dresses and unmentionables. His work clothes and toiletries. There was still room to add to it, if need be.  
  
“Khronos, what have you been up to and where are you?”

 

* * *

 

Undertaker heard the knock at the door while he was packing Grell’s things, and he immediately summoned his death scythe before answering it. He didn’t even bother to look through the peephole before unlocking and yanking the door open, almost looking forward to the prospect of battle with his lover’s kidnappers. Instead of finding either of them or their goons on the other side of it, he found his allies. Once again, he managed to practically scare the socks off Ronald Knox.

"Would ya watch where ya point that thing?" cried the young blond as he ducked, blinking up at the silver reaper owlishly. "I’m getting real tired of being on the business end of it!"

Khronos relaxed, and he banished his scythe again and offered a hand to the anxious blond. “So sorry, ‘Mustard Seed’. One can’t be too careful in situations like this.”

Ronald grimaced and allowed him to help him to his feet. “So what the hell happened? Where th’ hell did you go?”

Undertaker looked around and shrugged. “Right here, chap. Seems a redundant question.”

Ronald looked like he wanted to throw another shoe at him, and Lawrence hastily intervened. “I trust you and Grell are both all right?”

Khronos nodded. “Just fine. I’m packing my lady’s things and preparing to bring them back to your place, for now. Hope you don’t mind.”

"Not at all, but why did you vanish so suddenly and come here without us?"

Undertaker sighed and ushered them all in to explain.

 

* * *

 

Grell closed the lid to his trunk and stood up. His nightgown was untied across the chest, and so it had slid down and off his shoulder from his running about. He pushed the sleeves up and shuffled his bare feet to the door. He slung his hair back over his shoulder and took a deep breath. He could only hope the ancient reaper had gone downstairs. Perhaps Khronos was fixing them breakfast and perhaps not, either way, Grell was hoping the mortician was still there. After all, he could not have just up and left him alone. Not after they made love last night. Not after rescuing him.  
  
Grell paused in the hall just outside his bedroom door and bit on his nails nervously. What if someone had taken Khronos, or was waiting for him to come downstairs?  
  
He trembled at the thought, but shook his head. “No. That can’t be. I would have heard something and woken.”  
  
Now desperate to make sure the retired reaper was there, Grell took off for the staircase. He was still sore from their lovemaking, but he ignored the discomfort. He was to overcome with worry to care about the tenderness between his legs. He had to find Khronos and know he was alright.  
  
“Khronos?!” He hollered once more as he flew down the stairs. “Khronos, love? Where are you, darling?”

Undertaker turned at the sound of his lover’s frantic calls, and through the archway leading into the parlor, he saw Grell’s desperate half-stumble as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He went to her side, his conversation with the others cut off in mid-sentence. He caught up the female form in his arms and he smiled down at the redhead.

"Right here, love. It’s all right. I was just packing some of your things when our friends arrived."

He straightened the gown to hide Grell’s new endowments better from sight, and he removed his robe to drape it around her slim, shivering shoulders. “No need to fuss. Come say hullo, won’t you? They were worried.”

Relieved, Grell slipped his arms around the taller reaper’s waist and pressed his cheek against Khronos’ chest. “I didn’t know what to think when I awoke and you weren’t there. I thought…” Finally realizing what Khronos had said, Grell pushed back and looked up at him. “Friends?”

Undertaker gestured through the archway into the parlor, where Lawrence, Moira and Ronald sat. The latter of the three stood up and marched straight over.

"Senpai, you scared the bejeebers out of me," he accused, his attractive young face tense with stress. "What the hell were you thinking, running off like that? They could’a nabbed you again and we’d be back at square one!"

Khronos frowned at the blond. “Ronnie, calm down.”

The blond took a deep breath, but he didn’t seem much calmer. “That guy is still out there, and so is the one that put him up to it…or is working with him…or whatever! We finally got you back and you had to run off to—”

"Settle down, son," advised Lawrence, coming up behind the distraught young man. "As you can see, your mentor is safe. I think we should concentrate on gathering her belongings and returning to my home, so that we can sort out what to do next."

Undertaker nodded, stroking Grell’s bright hair. “I’ve got just about all of it packed up. I was just about to wake my rose to see what else she’d like to take that I might have skipped. There’s still the matter of the little lord and his demon to take care of, too.”

"Gentlemen, please?!" Moira demanded as she gracefully stood. Eyes locked on the redhead, she walked up to her and touched her cheek. "I doubt highly that Grell here meant any harm. Did you, child?"  
  
Moira hadn’t expected Grell to have such fiery red hair. But seeing the redhead standing there she knew then, Lawrence had been right. Grell was one of her descendants. She hadn’t known what happened to them all, but as she turned and looked at Grell, she could swear she was looking at her own daughter.  
  
Grell shook his head no, in reply to the woman’s question and she smiled back warmly. “See gentlemen, no harm.” Moira stated as she turned her head and looked at all three males in the room. “I think I shall take the young lady back to her room and help her to get dressed for the day. Why don’t you fellows start us some breakfast and we will be down before you know it. I would very much like to get to know Miss Grell.”  
  
Her gentle fingers brushed Grell’s bangs from her face and then she asked, “Would you like that, Grell? We can get you all cleaned up and dressed and bowl the men over with how lovely you are.”  
  
There was something about this woman that was familiar to Grell. He nodded and replied. “Yes, thank you.”  
  
He briefly glanced at Khronos for reassurance. When his silver-haired lover smiled and nodded to the stairs, Grell knew he could trust the lady who stood before him.  
  
“Alright Gentlemen, we shall be back before you know it. We will expect a lovely breakfast when we return waiting for us.” Moira ordered as she took Grell’s hands and began to lead her up the stairs.  
  
Grell looked back over his shoulder as he was nearly dragged up the stairs, but then he looked back up to the woman and asked. “I beg your pardon, but what is your name?”  
  
“Moira.”

 

* * *

 

Ronald stared after Moira helplessly, and when they were up the stairs, he turned to his companions. “Okay, did you say she was your sister, Father Anderson?”

Lawrence nodded. “Yes, she is.”

Ronald scratched his head. “How come none of us have ever met her before, then? I mean, I’d remember meeting someone like that.”

Anderson exchanged a look with Khronos. “You haven’t explained everything to him, have you?”

Undertaker spread his hands. “When did I have time to? Heh…time. But at any rate, no, I haven’t explained everything to the boy.”

"Look, I don’t care who tells me, just so someone spills the beans and explains what the hell’s going on here." Ronald sighed and went to Grell’s rarely used liquor cabinet to pour himself a glass of whisky.

"All right then, let’s explain all of the details to him while the ladies are upstairs," suggested Anderson. "But I warn you lad, this is going to be strange to hear."

Ronald snorted. “My senpai’s been turned into a woman by some guy working for a quack doctor with a serious case of obsession. There ain’t much more I can hear today that’s gonna surprise me.”

Khronos smirked. “Want to bet?”

 

* * *

 

"You have very lovely hair, dear." Moira complimented as she ran the silver handled brush through Grell’s crimson tresses. "It reminds me of my daughter’s. She was very lovely and strong-willed."  
  
“Was?” Grell questioned as he watched the brush pass through his hair in the mirror.  
  
“Aye. She passed away a very long time ago. I am much older than you can imagine. But before she died…she also had a daughter,” Moira shared sadly, “I loved her a great deal. I never met my granddaughter and unfortunately I lost track of my family. It’s rare to give birth as a reaper. We were never meant to, but once in a while, some of us are given that miracle.”  
  
Grell watched her smile fade as she spoke. He knew how rare it was for reapers to reproduce. They were death, not truly alive like mortals. They had been created for the purpose of collecting the dead. Slowly, he turned around and looked up at her.  
  
“I’ve known Lawrence my entire career with Dispatch, but he has never mentioned having a sister untill yesterday. What is it you do? Surely you are not retired?”  
  
Moira tilted her head and thought about how to best answer this. She wasn’t sure how exactly she was going to bridge their relation either.  
  
“Well…” she breathed as she took a seat next to her on her vanity bench. “I have been a reaper for a very long time. Many years before you were born. By chance, do you know how old Lawrence is, dear? Has he ever told you his age in all the time you have known him?”  
  
“No. I am afraid not. Our relationship never went beyond the Eyewear Department.” Grell answered.  
  
“As I thought. It would be unwise to say. We are very old,” Moira teased, tapping Grell on the thigh. Then she sobered as she began to explain her duties.  
  
“Let me see. What I do for Dispatch is this: I train and oversee the Death Assignment Department. Better known as Affairs. I not only help determine when a mortal is to pass, but I train younger reapers to learn how to make the same such decisions. It was a gift given to me on the day I was created; my purpose. Every so often there is a reaper, either born or created, with this gift also. It is our duty to make sure that mortals end time gets scheduled properly. We create the lists that are given to field agents for collection.”  
  
She looked over at Grell and placed her fingers under her chin, making her look up at her. “I am surprised you are a field agent.”  
  
“I would never have been good at anything else,” Grell replied, “I have a hot temper and I despise doing paper work. I would rather have fun playing…”  
  
“Just as I suspected,” Moira chuckled, “headstrong and independent. I take it that is a family trait?”  
  
She stood back up and resumed brushing Grell’s hair.  
  
Grell swallowed and averted his gaze, avoiding looking back at her through the mirror. “I wouldn’t know. My mother never spoke of her family much and my father was killed by an angel when I was very young. I know very little about my blood line. Just that it is old.”  
  
“So tell me how did you end up with an old crow like Khronos, then? And how in Death’s name did you ever get him to spill his real name?” asked Moira. She noticed the way she looked away and so she tried to lighten the air between them.  
  
“I have known Khronos for some years. He was always a pain in my ass, but then he…he spilled paint on me and he tried to make amends. The next thing I know…”  
  
“You fell in love,” Moira whispered as she leaned down and rested her chin on the redhead’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her waist. “You are good for him. He is very much in love with you. He would die to protect you.”  
  
He smiled into the mirror. “Yes. I know.”  
  
Moira released her and bounded over to the trunks.  
  
“Shall we get you dressed and how would you like your hair done? Up, I would presume. You seem the type to follow ladies fashions,” she giggled as she knelt down before the closed trunk. She froze as she was about to open the cedar box. On the lid were three letters that caught her eye. The middle letter striking her the hardest and she wondered if it could be or not.  
  
“G, C, S,” she mumbled as she ran her fingers over the script lettering surrounded by roses.  
  
“Yes, my initials, Grell Clodagh Sutcliff,” replied the redhead as he looked over his shoulder at the brunet.  
  
Moira’s lip trembled as a single tear slipped from the corner of her right eye.  
  
“Clodagh?”  
  
“That’s right,” Grell answered and stood up. He walked over to her, concerned and knelt down next to her. “Are you alrigh—Moira?”  
  
His sentence cut off as the brunet pulled him into a tight hug, crushing him against her bosom. She began to weep openly as she held him. Grell was confused and puzzled, until he heard her speak.  
  
“Mo iníon. Mo gariníon. Tá brón orm go bhfuil teipthe ar mé leat go léir na blianta. Anois, le chéile againn. Tá mé wondered minic faoi mo sliocht. Chun liom go raibh siad caillte. Níl a thuilleadh. Mo chroí. Mo ghrá.”  
  
 _~My daughter. My granddaughter. I’m sorry I have failed you all these years. Now we meet. I have often wondered about my offspring. To me they were lost. No longer. My heart. My love.~_  
  
“Atropos?” Grell whispered as he laid his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes. His arms encircling her waist. “Is it really you?”

 

* * *

 

Ronald stared at the two elders. “So…let me get this straight…you two are a pair of Greek gods and so is Wundt and his psychotic buddy Garrison…”

Undertaker shrugged. “That’s one way to put it, my lad, but…oh hell…Lawrence, help me.”

"It’s a dramatic interpretation of the text," supplied Anderson obligingly. "Like yourself, we are ‘death gods’, but we were amongst the first to be created. Not born of man or death, the Divine wove us out of nothingness and gave to each of us certain gifts—which were later ordained to be too powerful for future generations of our kind to access. The Greeks put our names down first, and later, other cultures gave us different names of their own making. All of us eventually chose different names for ourselves, and the death gods we once were faded into legend."

Undertaker gestured at Anderson and clapped softly. “Much better than I could have put it.”

Ronald looked between the two of them. “And Lady Moira is Atropos?”

"That’s right," answered Khronos, "but she hates to be called by that name now, so if you want my advice; don’t do it."

Ronald swallowed. “And she…Moira…she’s Grell’s…like…great-great grandmother?”

"I would add a couple more ‘greats’ to that," said the mortician with a shrug, "but yes."

Ronald blinked, walked back to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink. When Anderson looked about to protest, the blond held up one finger in warning. “Nuh-uh, Pops. No lectures. I’ve earned another shot.”

Lawrence grimaced, but said nothing as the young man poured and downed another shot.

"Man, I’ve been trying to hit on my senpai’s grandma," muttered Ronald. "How fucked up is that?"

Undertaker chuckled impulsively. “You wouldn’t be the first, lil’ chap. It isn’t as though our kind age beyond a certain point, and she certainly looks good for her age.”

"But she’s Grell’s grandma," Ronald practically whined. "Why are the best ones always off limits?"

"Who says she’s off limits?" wondered Khronos seriously.

Ronald eyed him in exasperation. “How d’ya think Senpai will feel about me trying to hook up with her, when he finds out? Damn, I feel like such a perv.”

"Now, now," soothed Lawrence with amusement. "Believe me, Moira can take care of herself, and Grell has bigger things on her mind right now. For that matter, so should we all. Perhaps you should save the romantic angst until after we’ve procured the freedom of Earl Phantomhive and his butler and eliminated this threat to your mentor, young Knox."

Ronald grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just…a little freaky.”

"Well, at least now you know," said Undertaker with a smirk. "Ronnie, pour a shot for me too, would you? I think I could use a nip myself."

 

* * *

 

"There now. Don’t you look as pretty as a meadow full of flowers on a spring day," Moira gushed as she clasped the last button on the back of Grell’s pink and rose print day dress.  
  
White lace sprang from the décolletage of his bodice and trimmed each layer of his silk skirt. The matching lace also adorned the loose hanging sleeves, layered over pleated pink chiffon. The sleeves stopped at the elbow and were tied off by dark magenta ribbons made of velvet, and a large matching bow was tied at the back of his waist. His shoes were white lace-up boots with pink roses on the sides; and his hair was pinned up similar to Moira’s, with ringlets dangling everywhere. He had selected a comb for his hair rather than a hat, and breathed deeply as he turned to face his standing mirror.  
  
“Oh, my!” Grell exclaimed as he stood, taking in the sight of his new feminine curves.  
  
“I always had to stuff my corsets…and now. I just…is this really my body, now?” he asked as he turned his head and looked up at his great grandmother.  
  
Moira nodded, a bright smile painted on her face. “Yes, dear. It is you, with the body you should have been born with. And this color sets off your eyes and your hair perfectly. You have outstanding taste. As you should, after all…you are related to me,” she giggled, giving Grell a little squeeze. “Now, lets get the men to carry these trunks out of here. You are sure you have everything?”  
  
“Yes. I am paid up through the month and I don’t need to take everything. I should be able to return once our problem has been taken care of. I won’t be run off from my home forever. I won’t let Wundt do that to me. He’s done enough.”  
  
“Then lets let that old fool downstairs have a look at you, then,” Moira beamed as she headed for the door and opened it. “Come on child. The day is wasting. We need to get a move on. I’m hungry.”

 

* * *

 

"Okay, so using my phone to get back in touch with that slimeball obviously won’t work," Ronald said, and he sighed. "Unless we can fish it out of the pond and find a way to salvage the…oooh, wait a minute!"

He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Dispatch keeps backup databases of every call that comes and goes from work-issued phones, in case any agents go missing and they need to back-track to whoever they spoke to last. Maybe I could…oh, but that wouldn’t work. We were on lockdown and if I go back now, I’ll get caught. Damn!”

"Now just a moment," Lawrence said. "I think you might have been onto something, there. You may not be able to go in yourself, but I could contact someone you feel you could trust to look over those phone records and retrieve that number…provided it was not masked."

"That’s the problem, though," sighed Ronald. "It showed up as ‘unknown’, and I hung up before he could say where he wanted to meet up and then I tossed it."

"Doesn’t Dispatch have ways to pull up that number anyhow?" Khronos asked.

Ronald shrugged. “Maybe…I think…” His eyes widened when two ladies entered the room in a rustle of skirts, and his jaw dropped. Before he even knew what he was saying, he just blurted out his thoughts. “S-Senpai? Wow! Look at you!”

Undertaker turned, took one look at his lover and dropped his glass straight to the floor. He didn’t even notice the sound of the container breaking as he stared Grell up and down. “Oh, my!”

It took him a moment to get his feet to obey his mind’s command, and he met the redhead halfway and took her hands in his. “Aren’t you a vision, then? I think my old ticker stopped for a moment, darlin’.”

"You know you are going to have to replace that glass you just broke?" Grell pointed out, but quickly his face lightened and he beamed up at his lover. "You like? Am I not a dream?"

"Oh, indeed," agreed the mortician readily, and he guided Grell into a light twirl so that he could gaze upon her from front to back. "More than, my dear."

Grinning, he completely forgot about the broken glass and the comment made about it, and he lowered his mouth to his lover’s to kiss her.

Grell’s eyes closed as he felt his lover’s lips press against his own. He didn’t give much care that they had an audience, himself. He just loved being appreciated in his dress, and the love that flowed between them. If it had been possible, he would have kept them there in that moment for as long as possible. Though the moment was soon fleeting as the sound of a woman clearing her throat interrupted them.  
  
“My dears, since you gentlemen seem to believe it is not safe to stay and eat. I suggest you get up there and get those trunks, so we can be off. I am terribly hungry and Lawrence, my brother, you know how I get when I am denied my breakfast.”

Anderson huffed and nodded. “Indeed. Hell hath no fury like Atropos denied morning tea. Come along, gentlemen. We can’t afford to have a hungry goddess on our hands.”

Khronos reluctantly pulled out of his lover’s arms and started off with Lawrence for the stairs. “Be down in a minute, love,” he assured Grell.

Ronald walked backwards toward the archway, looking at Moira. “So what do you like for breakfast? I can make a slammin’ good egg, cheese and bacon omelet—”

"Come along, Mr. Knox," repeated Anderson in a fond but firm tone. "You can discuss your culinary offerings once we’ve returned to my estate."

Ronald sighed and gave Moira and Grell the “Death” salute. “Guess it can wait. See ya in a bit, ladies.”

He hurried up the stairs after his two male elders, keeping his eyes off Moira to avoid saying or doing anything that might get him into trouble. Undertaker made it into Grell’s bedroom first, and he pointed out the largest trunk. “Ronnie and I can handle this ourselves, actually. Lawrence, mayhap while we’re lugging it downstairs you could make a portal back to your home in the foyer. We’ll carry the trunk through first and then everyone can follow behind us.”

Anderson nodded. “That sounds like a reasonable plan to me.” He went back downstairs to do as his friend suggested, while the mortician and Ronald secured the trunk shut and got on either side of it.

"Wuff," grunted Ronald as he lifted his end. "What the hell’s in this thing, anyway?"

"I packed some of Grell’s books in the bottom of it," explained Undertaker, grunting a little himself. "You’d be surprised how much books can weigh, once they’re added up. Heheh…you sounded like a dog just now, chap."

"Feels like we’re trying t’ carry a small tree," complained Ronald. "Get moving, Undy. Let’s get this thing downstairs before my strength gives out. Grell and his smutty romance novels…"

"Those don’t even make up half of them," defended Khronos, waddling backwards with his end toward the door. "He has a more eclectic taste in reading material than you realize. Poetry, Shinigami history, playwrights…lots of playwrights. She seems quite fond of those."

"You keep goin’ between calling Grell ‘him’ and ‘her’," observed Ronald. "Which is it, old guy?"

Khronos shrugged as best he could with his burden. “Both. It’s always been a bit of both for me, Ronnie, because your mentor defies gender ‘norms’ and whatever skin he wears, he’ll always be a lady to me.”

Ronald suddenly stopped in the hallway, just as they were about to start going down the stairs. He stared at the silver ancient with a completely fresh perspective, and Khronos frowned a little. “What’s the holdup, lad?”

"I just…" The blond swallowed, feeling a tug of emotion. "The way you talk about him, like it’s totally normal. I’ve never heard anyone talk about Grell like that before. Sure, I got used to it and I don’t have a problem with it, but it feels kind of like I’ve been humoring him all this time. Other reapers just put up with it, ya know? But you…I dunno, it’s like you see him the way he’s s’posed to be seen, I guess. I’m a bad friend and a bad student."

Undertaker chuckled, “Now you’re being silly. When you saw your mentor again and realized that he could be stuck in a female body, did you shy away at all? Or make her feel un-natural?”

"Well, no. I mean, Grell’s my Senpai, and that ain’t gonna change. He’s still Grell to me…just with…er…bonuses."

That made Khronos laugh outright. “Ah, pardon me. Well, there you have it. You aren’t a bad friend, nor are you a bad student.”

"Maybe," sighed Ron. "But I feel like I’ve got to say this. Thanks."

The ancient tilted his head curiously. “For?”

"For being the kind of guy he deserves." Explained Ronald. "I thought you were creepy and weird at first—"

"Everyone thinks that."

"Yeah, but Grell saw something in ya the rest of us missed…and you saw something in him we were all either ignoring or just shrugged off. You uh…embraced it all, I guess. Now you’re busting your ass trying to keep him safe from those creeps. If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now: You’re all right, old guy."

"We misfits tend to get along well with each other," said the mortician dryly. "No more drinks for you ‘till this evening though, Mustard Seed. You’re getting sentimental on me. Now, let’s get this trunk downstairs before Lady Moira lets out the beast and devours us all for sustenance, yeah?"

Ronald swallowed his emotions and nodded. The spirits he’d drunk had softened him up a little, but he’d meant every word of it. “Yeah, let’s motor.”

 

* * *

 

Moira watched as her brother descended the staircase empty-handed and summoned his scythe. Curious, she walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
“Lawrence, what on Earth are you preparing to do just now? I know you are not going to open a portal in here.” She turned and pointed to the front door. “We have to all exit the way we came.”

He stared at her. “And why is that? You know my portals are secure.”

"It’s not that, dear. You see, people saw three visitors enter this house. We can’t just up and disappear. We need to be seen leaving here or there will be gossip. In addition, it would be best to make it look as though Grell were taking a holiday. So carrying her trunks out the front door would make perfect sense and explain her not being here. Do you see? We can hail a carriage to take us somewhere and then portal out of here," she smiled and brushed some dust from his lapel, "and Khronos may like to stop by his shop and pick some of his things up."

Lawrence harrumphed softly, a bit mortified that he hadn’t considered the same thing. “Nicely handled. I’ll see about a carriage for us while you explain to the others, then. I would suggest, however, that it might be prudent for Khronos and Grell to teleport to my estate. As of now, it’s truly the safest place for the latter and it’s best they don’t linger in this realm for longer than necessary. We can fetch anything Khronos might require from his shop, while we are still here on this side.”

"Lawrence, while I would agree normally, the same people that saw us enter most likely saw the two of them enter. They need to leave out the front door as well. We have two options." She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her cheek. "We all go to Khronos’ shop and pick up what he needs while we are here, or we have the carriage drop us off and we, when the cost is clear, port home, drop Grell and I off there—her belongings included. And then you three men can port directly into the shop, retrieve what is needed and return home, post haste. That is, unless you have a better idea, of course."

"They arrived last evening," he reminded her, "and I shudder to think of what may happen if Hypnos and Thanatos might try to do if word gets to them that Grell is here before we’ve had the opportunity to get him…her…away. Surely they’ve had this place watched. It’s a miracle that they haven’t sent someone to come after their quarry before now."

"Do you honestly believe those two would come around here so soon? Honestly, Lawrence. You know them. They are not that careless. Not to mention, they have prey they are toying with as we speak. They would not be trying to barter for Grell, if they were planning to come here. They may have someone watching this place, but they are not rash. They are patient and will strike at the appropriate time."  
  
Grell was eavesdropping over the conversation between his relatives, and he decided it might be best if he spoke up. Not sure how to address them just yet, he cleared his throat as he walked up to them. “My neighbors are nosy. Well, at least Mrs. Carver is. She likes gossip and can often be found spying out her parlor window. She would grow suspicious if she did not see me leave out the front door. I can’t even be sure if she didn’t notice my blonde hair yesterday.”  
  
He looked down at his feet before continuing, “I too do not believe Wundt would come back here so soon. He…I know him rather well and…”

Lawrence sighed, giving his sister a glare that said he thought this was a big mistake, but unwilling to upset his already traumatized niece further. “Very well, then. I do not, however, support any fool notion that Grell should linger on this plane longer than necessary. The both of you seem to be overlooking the fact that Hypnos uses pawns, and plenty of them. We’ve just gotten Grell out of their clutches and I will be damned before I allow them a second chance to abduct her again. Hypnos is not above enlisting demonic help, as you may recall. He even has methods to force their cooperation, and he happens to have one reputed to be quite powerful in his hands at this very moment.”

With that said, he sighed and smoothed his jacket. He was uncommonly tense, and he sincerely hoped that his sister wasn’t putting her own progeny at risk by delaying their egress for the sake of the neighbors’ perception. “Let’s be off, then. Inform Khronos and Mister. Knox while I summon a carriage. No more blasted arguments.”

"Mister Anderson, I mean Lawrence or… I am not sure what to call you any longer, but…" Grell slipped his arms around the elder reaper’s neck and hugged him. "Thank you. I promise we will get home as fast as we can."

Lawrence’s stiff poise relaxed, and he sighed and patted Grell gently on the back. “I only wish to keep you safe, dear one.”

He pulled away and smiled down at her, before turning to go and see to his task. Undertaker and Ronald came grunting down the stairs with the chest then, and the mortician blew his bangs out of his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the sight of his friend heading out the front door.

"What’s going on now, eh?"

"Umm…he ran to fetch a carriage, my sweet. You see we can’t just port out of here. The mortals will think it odd if the house is all of sudden empty or vacant and yet no one left. Also, if Wundt does have my house being watched, he will know for certain I am not here, nor alone." Grell answered as he stepped up next to him.

The mortician grimaced in thought as he and Ronald set the chest down. Like Anderson, he had some issues with that…but for different reasons. He chose not to mention his thoughts to Grell at the moment, but to instead stay right by her side until they figured out a way to deal with the situation with Sebastian and Ciel. Chances were that Thanatos or Hypnos would find some other way to reach them, since going through Ronald’s work phone was now out of the question.

Ronald straddled the chest and slapped the top of it. “As long as we get outta here and get Senpai to safety, I don’t care how we do it. Why so glum, chum? I’m not used to seeing ya look so serious.”

Undertaker didn’t want to say it in front of Grell. He didn’t want to tell him that if word of Lawrence and Moira’s description made it back to Hypnos, he might realize his fellow ancients were directly involved…and that might make him desperate and therefore put Ciel further at risk. Not that Grell gave a pig’s fart about the boy, but Undertaker certainly did…at least to a point.

"It’s nothing," assured the mortician with a painted smile. "Just take a breather ‘till it’s time to haul this luggage down to the cab."

He shot a resentful look at Moira. “You take delight in watching men slave over the ladies, don’t you?”

"Naw, I’m sure she’s just looking out for Senpai," Ronald immediately excused with a little wink at Moira that he couldn’t seem to help. "Besides, I don’t mind slaving for the pretty ones."

"Don’t start Khronos. You of all reapers should know how mortals are. You have lived with them for a long time. They talk. Grell has chosen to live amongst them. Would you risk ruining her? And I mean jeopardize her from returning to her beloved home…when this whole mess has been dealt with. Think about it. She will need a place to live when all is said and done."

Moira wagged her finger at him as she came up along side Grell. “These humans are more concerned with propriety than sense. We are going to make it look as though she were on holiday, with family. Can you at least give that to her, after everything she has been through? Something normal and warm to return to when it is safe to do so. This is her home, Khronos.”  
  
Grell held fast to his grandmother’s arm. He wanted to stop them from getting into an altercation, but he had no idea what to say. Moira was right. This was his home and he didn’t want to leave it, though he knew he must. He could accept leaving it for a time, but the thought of never being able to return…

Undertaker made a perplexed face at her, and he glanced at Ronald with a gesture at the statuesque female reaper. “See there? No food and you get the dragon lady. All’s I said was she likes to make us blokes work for the ladies and she goes off on a tangent!”

Ronald scratched the back of his head and whistled softly, looking off to the side. “Staying out of this one.”

Taken aback by Khronos’ words, Moira glanced at her granddaughter. Grell was starring at her with a pensive expression. Realizing she had just errupted for no apparent reason, she patted the redhead’s hands.  
  
“I am sorry, love. I did not mean to upset you.” She then looked up at Khronos and apologized to him, “Forgive me. I did not mean to tear into you like that. I just know how you can get and well…I am sorry. It was very unbecoming of me to react so grandly, over such a small comment.”

Undertaker shrugged and grinned. “Been a while since I’ve seen it, but I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be in the damage range of ‘Molten Moira’ when she erupts.”

Lawrence came back in at that moment, nodding at his sister. “The carriage awaits. I think we should make haste and leave.”

Undertaker shooed Ronald off the trunk. “Yes, yes…let’s do that and get your sister something to eat, before the dragoness decides to stuff us all down her gullet.”

Ronald picked up the other end and he gave Moira an apologetic look. “Uh, you can eat me if you want. I mean…no! Th-that wasn’t—”

"Just carry the luggage, lad," reminded Lawrence with a soft chuckle.

"Lawrence, dear, don’t forget the other trunk. You should be able to handle it yourself," Moira reminded her brother before turning to Grell. "Alright dear. Are you sure you have everything? I am not sure when we can return you here."  
  
“I believe so,” Grell replied. But as he gave one last thought to his home, he remembered something. “I nearly forgot. I will be right back. I need to grab something.”  
  
Picking his skirts up, Grell ran up the stairs and instead of turning to his master suit where Lawrence was headed, he ran straight to the door across from the staircase. He glanced at the ancient reaper before opening the door to the room used as his office. He walked to his desk and pulled a key from his reticule, and unlocked the top desk drawer.  
  
“There you are. I can’t forget you. I might need you while I am away.”

Anderson paused curiously, but he was too polite to ask for details. “Are you ready, Grell?”

Grell looked up, startled. He hadn’t heard the older reaper’s footsteps and he nearly dropped the book in his hands to the floor.  
  
“Hell’s eternal flames, you frightened me!” he exclaimed, then smiled, “I forgot my…my diary. I write almost every night in it and I nearly forgot it. We should be on our way, then.”  
  
However, the book in Grell’s hands was not a diary at all. It was the book that contained the incantation he used for changing his appearance. He had been crafty enough to make a special cover for it, so no one would discover his little secret. Confident that Lawrence would buy his story, he locked his drawer and stuck the key back into his tiny purse. Smiling, he stepped back around his desk and walked up to his great uncle, the book clutch in his hands and pressed to his bosom.

Lawrence chuckled softly, “Far be it from me to deprive a lady of her diary. Off with you then. I’ll be along with your remaining trunk, right behind you.”

He patted the small of Grell’s back in a patronly gesture, before going into the master bedroom to collect said trunk.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Grell watched as Lawrence entered his boudoir. Taking a deep breath, he dashed down the stairs. Moira stood waiting in the doorway, watching Ronald and Khronos as they placed the trunk in the boot of the carriage.  
  
“I forgot my diary. I can’t bear to be parted from it,” he stated as he stepped up next to the brunet.  
  
Moira looked over at her and chuckled, “Those two are a pair to watch.” She pointed to the pair of reapers as they slowly made their way back to the house. “I thought they were going to drop all of your belongings on the street.”  
  
Grell smiled back and watched alongside his grandmother.

"Ow! You got my finger!" Ronald yanked his hand out from under the trunk and shook it, glaring accusingly at Undertaker.

The mortician spread his hands. “I didn’t ‘get’ it, silly boy…the trunk did. It’s not my fault you didn’t move your hand out of the way fast enough.”

Ronald sucked on his sore pointer finger, speaking around it. “Yeah, wew…you cood a warmed me ‘for ya wet go.”

Khronos snickered, “You sound like a toddler. Should we make a stop to pick you up some nappies, then?”

Ronald made as if to kick at him and the ancient danced out of the way with a smirk. Upon noticing their audience, Ronald popped his finger out of his mouth and stuck his hands into his pockets, looking down at his white loafers self-consciously as he scuffed them on the cobbles. He missed his usual shoes. He’d sent them off to be professionally cleaned just before he’d been forced to flee down the garbage chute at headquarters and leave his realm.

"So, um…you ladies ready to go?"

"As soon as my brother gets down here and Grell dear, locks her house up," Moira beamed at the youngling.  
  
As Ronald and Moira began to chat, Grell stepped before Khronos and slipped his arms around the ancient’s waist.  
  
“Khronos, when all this is done and it is safe… Will you return here with me? I mean, to live with me?” he asked looking up, “I can’t imagine living here alone anymore.”

The mortician hesitated; not because he didn’t find appeal in the thought, but because he still had his shop and belongings to consider. He supposed he could leave his property as it was and just travel to work each afternoon, though. He smiled at her and he stroked her hair. “That would be lovely, my dear. It might take me a bit of getting used to sleeping in a bed instead of my coffin, but considering the company I’d have, I think I can manage.”

He bent over to kiss Grell’s pert little nose. Lawrence came out and Undertaker gently ushered his lover to the front door. “Lock up now, so we can be on our way.”

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

* * *

 

While Anderson was loading the smaller luggage into the cab of the carriage, Ronald was trying to decide whether to flirt with the ancient’s sister or not. Seeing as it was part of his nature when it came to women, he was having a terrible time controlling himself.

"I had no idea you were Senpai’s Gran," he said. "But I didn’t know you were…well…who you are, either."

He smiled at her. “You must have seen a lot of action in your life. I’d like to hear some stories sometime about that. Maybe over some drinks? Or dinner? Or coffee?”

"You are quite the flirt, are you not, Mister Knox? And I may just take you up on that offer for dinner. Though I must warn you; my life is not as exciting as you imagine. I am afraid it has been rather boring." Moira smirked as she slipped her arm around Ronald’s, linking them.

He got uncommonly flustered, and he opened the door for her as they rounded the carriage. “I’m really trying t’ behave…tone down on the Knoxie moves on account of who you are and all.”

He helped her into the carriage and then climbed in after her, sitting across from her for the sake of keeping his hands to himself. “Guess it’s just hard for me to tone it down in front of such a pretty lady. So…you might let me take ya out to dinner? After we take care of this mess, that is.”

He smiled, happy with the prospect even as he dreaded what Grell might say if he found out he was trying to mack on his granny. The more he looked at Moira though, the harder he found it to think of her as a grandmother. More like a goddess. Yeah…that’s what she was, anyhow.

"Did I not say that I might take you up on that offer?" She frowned at him and then smiled as Grell and Khronos approached. "Darling, your friend here seems to be a bit daft. Is he always like this around women? From what I hear around the office…"

"I beg your pardon?" Grell froze as he was half way into the carriage. Eyes wide, he looked back and forth between the two. He was thoroughly puzzled. "He is like what, around who?"

Ronald winced inwardly. “Nothing! Wow, look at the time. We ought to get moving, right? Come on, get in!”

He caught hold of Grell’s hands to help him the rest of the way in, practically pulling his mentor on top of him. Khronos came in after him and squeezed in beside Grell, and then Lawrence got in and sat next to his sister. Ronald slid open the dividing window between the coach and the driver’s seat and he called out to the coachman.

"Okay, we’re in! Get this thing moving, would ya?"

"I haven’t—" Lawrence started to say, but the coach lurched into motion and he had to catch his balance. "—closed the door," he finished with a sigh. He reached out to catch said door as it swung open and secured it shut.

"Heavens, lad…you remind me of a perpetual motion machine at times."

Ronald shrugged and relaxed, threading his fingers behind his head and trying not to think of how easily he stumbled when it came to Moira…or what his Senpai might do when he found out he was trying to reel her in for dating. “Can’t just stand still, Pops,” he excused. “That’s how ya get caught, right?”

"I can’t argue with that," agreed Khronos. He put an arm around Grell to support her as the motions of the carriage made their seating a little unstable. "So where exactly do you have this fellow driving us to? It isn’t as though we can pass into the Shinigami realm in this coach. The shock would send the poor bloke driving into an early grave."

"He’ll take us to the train station," explained Lawrence. "Once there, we can form a portal to my estate on the other side and bring Grell’s luggage in. Khronos, if there is anything you feel you would like from your shop, I can accompany you back to this realm and leave the ladies and Ronald to have breakfast."

The mortician thought about it. “I s’pose I could do with a change of clothes or three…though my wardrobe isn’t all that varied. It’d be nice to have something clean to change into, though.”

"I would offer something from my own wardrobe, if I thought it would fit," said Lawrence with a nod. "Very well, we can see to that after seeing them off."

Undertaker kissed Grell on the cheek and murmured a promise. “I won’t be gone long, darlin’. I’ll just pack some basics and be back before you know it.”

Grell glanced up and smiled, “I know. You need your things as well. I can’t begrudge you that. I just want you to be careful. After what that cretin did to me…I admit, I am afraid to be without you. I was foolish yesterday, running off like that. I was in such shock.”

"Grell, you aren’t alone in facing this any longer," Moira explained, "You have family around you now. I am sorry our brethren have been cruel. They weren’t always this disgraceful. Just you see dear, Thanatos and Hypnos, they didn’t like being leashed. We used to have more privilege with our powers. When that was taken from us and rules were implemented, those two began to rebel."

Moira sighed, “They at one time were very dedicated to their purpose and as the years began to stack upon one another…the job became tedious. It tends to do so, when you have been around since the dawn of time.”

She leaned forward and touched both Grell’s and Ronald’s knees.

"My dears, I am sure you know of what I speak. Not all reapers, especially those created, last very long. True, to mortals they may be a few hundred years old, but to us that is not long at all. The never-ending work drives them mad."

Ronald’s first reaction to the touch was excitement, but then her words sunk in and he was reminded of one of his academy mates. He swallowed and looked out the window. “Yeah, well…it’s not cut out for everybody.” His gaze softened as the shadowed memory came back to him. He’d blocked it out for years, but…

He shook his head and forced a smile. “Well, nobody in here’s going rogue…er…’cept him.” He nodded at Undertaker. “But he’s cooled off now.”

Undertaker smirked. “Just give me time. I’m sure I’ll find some other way down the road to bugger up again.”

"We all go a bit…rogue sometimes, Ronnie," Grell spoke, placing a chilled hand against the blond’s cheek. "Even I did. Wundt once told me. It is what keeps us from offing ourselves. From what I recall, the suicides have all been…"

Grell trailed off and looked down at his lap. His hand falling from the young reapers warm cheek.

"I’m sorry."

Ronald shrugged and patted his mentor’s shoulder. “‘S okay, Senpai. It was years ago.”

Undertaker quirked a brow under the fringe of his silver bangs. “Eh? What was years ago?”

Anderson discreetly pressed his shoe against the top of the mortician’s foot in warning, a bit more observant than the silver reaper. Right now, Khronos was too distracted with Grell and keeping her safe to have noticed the boy’s reaction to Moira and Grell’s comments.

Grell shook his head and looked up at he ancients sitting across from him. He had been without family for so long. He had been angry and temperamental. Displeased with his body, with his life and his in inadequacies. Now he was sitting in a carriage with his adopted brother, his lover and his great relatives. But his heart contracted as he turned his head and looked at the blond. It was a known fact that made reapers—perhaps because they had once been mortal—sometimes took their immortal lives from madness.

He had been there when Ronald’s friend had a mental collapse and scythed himself. It had been hard on the blond. Hard for him to understand. And now he had dug up the past that had long since been buried. He was all Ronald had.

Wanting to bring him some comfort and change the subject, Grell wrapped his arm around the blond’s shoulder and whispered, “I am not blind, Ronald, dear. I see how you look at her. You can stop acting so odd. You are a handsome young male and she…well never mind…perhaps she is too much for you to handle. After all, she is nearly a god and you, well you are just…just a grain of sand on the beach beneath her feet.”

Ronald frowned at the redhead. “Wow. Way to boost my confidence,” he whispered. “Now I remember why Eric was always my wing-man and not you.”

Grell chuckled and pinched the blond’s cheek. “No fair, you never gave me a chance to be. Although I must say, I would probably think none of those girls were good enough for my dear Mustard Seed.”

Ronald’s gaze flicked to Moira, who appeared to be in a quiet discussion with her fellow ancients at the moment. “What about her? I mean, if she can notice a lil’ grain of sand like me.”

"Umm…" Grell glanced over at the beautiful ancient and then pensively returned his attention to the blond, frowning. "I think she likes you, but I am not sure, Ronnie. You have been known to break hearts, and well…I just met her and found out she is my kin. I don’t want you to use her or hurt her. And I know you don’t mean to hurt the ladies you take out, but she is special and…and I want to get to know her before you sweep her off her feet, then carry her off into the sunset. You know you will. It has been so long since I had a family. I am sorry, but I would like to get to know her, before you take her from me."

Ronald was honestly surprised. “Take her from…oh shit…what made you think I’d even…”

But then he thought of everything Grell had been through, and it made a weird sort of sense to him. “Senpai,” he sighed, beyond tired, “I’m just trying to get to know her…promise. Maybe I’m never gonna get a lady like that, but…I’d like it if she’d give me a second glance. I’d never ‘take’ her from you, though. I figure since you’re kinda like my sister, it’d just make things more solid, ya know?”

He scratched his head and grimaced. “But I’ll stop if it makes you unhappy. Can’t say there’s another fish like that in the ocean, but I want you to be happy. If it makes ya too uncomfortable…I guess I can get over it. Won’t be easy though.”

Just looking at Moira made his heart skip a beat…but he didn’t want to compete with his mentor for her affection.

Grell looked down. He didn’t mean to insult the blond or hurt his feelings. He knew Moira was attracted to Ronald. It was evident. Just the idea of loosing someone before he had the chance to get to know them frightened him.

"If I hadn’t just…no, that was wrong of me to suggest you would be so heartless. It is just that, I see how the girls drool all over you. And they tend to lose their heads, hearts and other things when it comes to you."

Curiously, Grell asked: “Would you promise not to sweep her so off her feet that she could never walk alongside me again?”

Ronald glanced at the lovely woman he was just getting to know, and he smirked. “I think she’s got a better chance of sweeping me of my feet first. She’s…really something.”

He looked into Grell’s eyes and he sighed. “But I won’t do anything ‘till ya say it’s all right by you, Senpai; wasn’t planning to try dating her until after all this is over, anyhow. I’m a horn-dog, but I’m more worried about you than my love life, okay?”

"Honestly?" Grell’s brows pinched together once more and a smile painted his lips. He took Ronald’s hand into both of his and pressed it to his chest, just below his chin. "I really mean that much to you, Ronnie?"

Ronald shrugged, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Well, yeah! Why else would I put up with all this crazy stuff? It’s not for my health.”

"Thank you, Ronnie, for everything. Thanks for your help, and your friendship." Grell glanced over at Moira from the corner of his eye. "When all this is done…"

Grell swallowed and looked back at Ronald. He reached up and brushed a strand of blond hair from his temple. “Ask her out. Take her to a beautiful, romantic restaurant. She won’t say no. She will be delighted. You will make the men envious and the ladies jealous. You will be the most handsome couple in all of history.”

Ronald grinned, feeling better with Grell’s approval. “Ya won’t mind? I mean, if she’d give me a chance I’d really like to show her a good time and treat her nice, but I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Senpai.”

"No. I don’t mind, my sweet." Grell shook his head and gave a small chuckle. "I think she would be good for you. Well, from what I know of her. And the way she looks at you."

Ronald cast a covert look Moira’s way, admiring her beauty as she discussed things with her brother and the Undertaker. “Think she likes me? I’m totally digging on her. I’d treat her like a queen, too. I…shit…this is intense.”

He looked at Grell, slightly disturbed. “I’ve had gals make my heart skip a beat before, but she…I think she makes my whole body skip a beat. I feel like such a loser ‘cause my mouth goes dry when I talk to her. I’m never this clumsy when it comes to chatting up the ladies, ya know?”

"Ronald, are you saying you feel something more deeply than attraction for her? Perhaps even for the first time ever in your life? Maybe, like, love at first sight?" Grell prodded, poking the youth in the chest. A tiny giggle escaping him as he once more looked in Moira’s direction.

Ronald blushed. “Not sure I believe in love at first sight, but she’s got my attention more than anyone else I’ve ever gone after.”

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the train station, and the driver announced that they’d reached their destination. Lawrence got out first and Khronos followed soon after, to help him with the luggage. Ron quickly stepped out and offered a hand down to both Grell and Moira, respectively.

"So I guess this is it,” he said as the coach drove away. Lawrence began to open a portal, and Ronald smiled at Moira. "Ready to try, my omelet?" He nearly called her "sweet thing" but he thought better of it.

Moira smiled warmly at the blond and nodded. “I am indeed looking forward to tasting your omelet. I was beginning to think we would never get out of here and get somewhere where I could eat. I feel as though I am going to faint.”

Meanwhile, Grell walked up to Khronos and placed his hands on the ancient’s chest. “Darling, I wanted to say something before we parted and while the others are preoccupied. I don’t know why I am choosing to say this here and now. I admit it may be poor timing, but the thought only occurred to me on the ride over here.”

Grell looked down and took a deep breath. Raising his head, he looked deep into Khronos’ eyes. Searching them, he changed his mind and shook his head. “Never mind…I can’t. I am not thinking things through. We should get going. We are…Aah!” Grell screamed as he stumbled backwards and tripped over one of his trunks.

Undertaker started to go to his lover, but he felt the cold press of sharp metal against his throat, just above his scars. A lean body pushed up against him, and he heard the familiar voice of Sebastian Michaelis speak into his ear.

"I am rather afraid I must break the deal my master struck with you. You see, he has been captured, and one of your kind is holding him prisoner. I have been sent to retrieve your lady fair in exchange for my young master’s safe return. And I solemnly swear I will kill you, if you try and stop me," Sebastian growled, his eyes burning bright red. "Would you like to know what they have been doing to the boy, while you have been off playing with one another?"

"I can imagine," said Khronos grimly. "No, Ronnie."

The blond had been ready to launch an attack, and blood trickled from Undertaker’s throat as Sebastian pressed the borrowed scythe harder against it. Lawrence had opened the portal already and he stared when he turned to find his fellow ancient under threat. “The Phantomhive butler, I presume?”

"Right," confirmed Undertaker, "Sebastian."

"Well we can’t just let him take Senpai to them!" protested Ronald. "Hey butler, if ya want to get your kid back and make those guys pay, ya oughta work with us! ‘Cause if you kill Undy, we’ll be all over you like fleas on a dog and you’re outnumbered. How about we figure out some other way, huh?"

"Do you honestly believe you could defeat me? All of you? And you might be successful, but Undertaker will perish in the trying. I would presume that is something Grell would prefer not to have happen." Sebastian looked straight at Grell and smirked, "Am I right, Grell? You do not wish for me to harm your lover, now do you?"

Grell got to his hands and knees and looked up at the demon he once lusted after and chased. Fear etched across his wide eyes. His heart was racing like a rabbit on the run from a wolf.

"Sebby, please…please don’t do this. Please let him go, please don’t hurt him!" He begged as he stumbled to his feet, grabbing Moira’s arm to help himself up.

The demon’s eyes flickered as he watched the redhead struggle to stand.

"I will allow him to live if you return with me this instant, Grell. However…" He eyed the other reapers. "If any of you try to come after us or rush me, I will have no qualms in killing you all. With Grell being the exception."

"You’ll have to kill me then, chap," said Khronos seriously. "I’m not letting Hypnos get his hands on Grell again."

Inwardly, he was trying to recall how to use his old abilities. He hadn’t had much time to practice it since liberating his lover from his captor, and it was like trying to flex a muscle left too long unused.

"Do you really think those who put you up to this will be content to just let you and the boy go anyhow? You don’t know them. I do. Hypnos is likely to carve Ciel’s mind up to see what makes him tick, before moving on to you."

Anderson nodded. “The only thing you would be accomplishing by bringing Grell back to them is to give them another victim to toy with.”

He too was preparing to use long-dormant powers; a bit more familiar with his abilities than Khronos was. The silver reaper used to tease him about his abilities, in fact. The power to make people suffer depression wasn’t quite as flashy as the power to manipulate time, but it had its uses.

"You’ll bring your own doom, as well as your master’s and Grell’s," promised the ancient, and he showed Sebastian a vision of what would come of it. Ciel tortured mentally until he broke, Sebastian kept alive in a horrid state, cut open for examination and experimentation, and Grell a curled up wreck of a doll, with no willpower of his own left to him.

Sebastian glared at the ancient reaper. “I know precisely what will happen to us all. Your silly mind games will not sway me. They do not work on the children of Hell, I am afraid. But the show was…well let us just say it was amusing, to say the least to watch. As for the redheaded lunatic, he has caused me more grief than I care to admit. I could not careless as to what the ancient does to him.”

"Sebastian," Grell called out stepping forward, "don’t hurt him, please?"

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked back at his family. Moira tried to grab him, but he stepped further away from her, backing towards the demon and his lover.

The redhead shook his head and said in a broken voice, “I can’t live without him. If he dies…” Grell turned around and looked Sebastian in the eyes. “I love him. Don’t kill him. I…I’ll go with you. Promise me…promise me you won’t hurt any of them.”

"Grell, no." Khronos’ voice was stern, and there was a kind of desperation in his ancient gaze. "I’ll not lose you again."

"Promise me!" Grell yelled.

A wicked grin carved into the demon’s lips. “I promise I won’t harm any of them, Grell. But I make no such guarantee for your lover. Now come forward or I will slice his throat.”

"Khronos," Grell cried as he took a couple of more steps towards them, "I can’t lose you."

Undertaker swallowed, shaking his head. More droplets of blood dripped free as he inadvertently sawed his own skin with the motion. “Grell…love…don’t. Please don’t.”

"You son of a bitch," growled Ronald with a glare at Sebastian. "I knew we should have finished you off on the Campania! Pops…Moira…what do we do? We can’t just let them have Senpai again!"

Anderson gave his sister a helpless look. His abilities had never been terribly formidable. It was his knowledge and wisdom that made him strong. Khronos was the one with the strongest powers of all of them, but he’d forgotten so much of how to use them, and the anxiety radiating from him right now left little hope that he could concentrate enough to put a stop to this.

Moira looked back at her brother and shook her head.

"Grell!" Moira called out as she ran up to her granddaughter, taking Grell by the waist. "Don’t. If you go… Then everything he has done for you will have been in vain."

"My diary. Keep it safe," Grell whispered as he began to shove the ancient from him.

"Grell no!" Moira hollered as she felt her grasp slipping from around his waist.

Sebastian, watching, whispered into the Undertaker’s ear. “You are aware I have been ordered to kill you and as a demon of contracts, I am obliged to do so. So take a good look at him. For it will be your last.”

Undertaker looked at his lover, displaying more love in his gaze than he’d ever expressed before. “Grell…I love you. Just remember that.”

Grell looked over at Khronos and Sebastian. “Let him go. You have me, you bastard.”

In that moment, Grell wondered why he had ever wanted the demon. All these years he had chased him and the blasted beast had abused him, neglected him and now…Grell had finally found someone to love, and the demon was there to ruin it for him. He intended to take away the only happiness he had found in years.

Moira raced forward again and grabbed the redhead. “Grell, please!”

A gust of wind kicked up behind Grell as he faced his grandmother. A bright light then encircled him as a portal began to open.

"Take care of him for me," he requested as Wundt’s goons emerged from the portal and grabbed him. Grell struggled against their hold as they began to drag him away. Moira attempted to hold onto the redhead, but the one named Hans kicked out, striking the ancient in the gut. She fell back and stared after Grell as he continued to fight Wundt’s goons.

"Let him watch." Sebastian ordered as he looked towards Grell. His eyes grew to slits and flashed bright red once more.

Grell’s eyes widened. _~No!~_

"Sebastian! NO!" He screamed as the demon pulled the scythe across Khronos’ throat.

Ronald was already moving, his mower roaring to life. “Pops…Moira…stop ‘em from taking Grell while I take care of this asshole!”

He leaped through the air as Undertaker fell, the blades of his scythe shredding into Sebastian’s smug face. Lawrence tried to put a stop to Grell’s second abduction, but his captors were through the portal and gone with him before he could do more than reach out. Moira had an acute look of concentration on her face, and her brother could only hope she’d managed to make use of her skills. Meanwhile, the demon butler’s cinematic records were flooding the air as Ronald literally mowed him down, and Khronos lay in a pool of his own blood…his own reels whipping out, uncontrolled and wild.

"Shit-head," yelled Ronald as he cut deeper into Sebastian. "Senpai always liked you, too! You fucking asshole!"

 Sebastian stared back up at the blond, his records playing all around them. There was murder in the young reaper’s eyes, and Sebastian smirked inwardly. The blond bent on reaping him, did not see the demon’s hands creeping to his ankles. Keeping their eyes locked, Sebastian grabbed the reaper by his ankles and in the blink of eye tucked his legs up between Ronald’s legs. His knees dislodging the scythe from his chest, in the process. Swiftly he kicked straight out with both of his legs, striking the youth square in the gut with his feet. The impact flung the blond back several yards and into the side of a wagon.

Adjusting his waistcoat, Sebastian cracked his neck as his records returned to his body and ceased playing. Silverware appeared in his hand and he threw them, flying straight at the blond. Two of them caught Ronald and pinned him to the green painted wood. The demon’s eyes flashed as he turned to the other ancients, a sadistic grin upon his face.

"Now, which one of you would like to be next?"

Undertaker climbed to his feet behind him, having stopped breathing to avoid choking on his own blood. His own cinematic records were still spilling out, but his mad grin was as wide as ever, his white teeth bloodied. He’d called forth his scythe and since he lacked the vocal capacity to speak, he simply tapped Sebastian on the shoulder. Rather than wait for Sebastian to turn and look, he struck with precise, deadly force, slicing a diagonal gash in the demon’s torso that came close to severing his spine. Intestines spilled out along with more records and the mortician hopped backwards, using his weapon’s range to slash again—this time returning the favor done to him earlier. The gleaming metal of his death scythe carved a smirk in the demon’s pale throat, and Undertaker’s booted foot kicked out to knock him over.

Driving the point of his scythe into the butler’s chest, the mortician pinned him down, his own blood dripping steadily to mingle with Sebastian’s. He glanced at his companions, the wound in his throat gaping with the motion, and he silently urged them with his gaze to move quickly. He was rapidly fading and he could not keep the demon pinned like this for very long on his own.

Moira shook her head no. Grell and the others were still traveling through portals and she was having a hard time tracking them. She could not leave; she had to concentrate. As hard as it had been not to look hearing the blond fight with the demon, she did not look. Looking would have resulted in her loosing Grell.

Her brows pinched together as she felt her brother come up behind her, trying to pick her up from the ground. She struggled not to lose her train of thought, but one last jerk of her body disconnected her link to the redhead. Violently, she shook her head and fought his hold on her.

"No!" She screamed out. "I almost had them. You made me loose them, Lawrence. I could have found out where they took her. Why? Why did you stop me? Damn it! Grell!"

"S-Senpai said something about Germany to me," groaned Ronald as he pulled loose the silverware from his body and tried to shake off the blow he’d received.

Lawrence sighed and called forth his death scythe; an unlikely reaping tool in the form of a sword cane. He went to Khronos’ side and stabbed the demon in the thigh to help pin him down, his lined face troubled. “There are a number of asylum facilities on both the Shinigami side and the mortal side, all over Germany. Were I to venture a guess, I would presume our foes operate out of one of them.”

Ronald painfully got to his feet and wiped blood from a cut in the back of his neck, caused by his impact with the wagon. He picked up his scythe and staggered over to Sebastian, adding his efforts to keeping the demon pinned. He looked like he wanted to cry.

"Shit," groaned the blond, and then he repeated the vulgarity more loudly. "SHIT! I can’t believe they got him again! How th’ hell…I mean there’s four of us and we still couldn’t protect Senpai?" He revved his lawnmower hard, tearing into Sebastian’s torso with clenched teeth.

"Yer gonna suffer for this, you arrogant bastard!"

"Ronald, calm yourself," ordered Lawrence. "We may be able to use this creature to track their location, provided we can keep him subdued long enough. He was a captive of theirs, along with his master. Now pay attention to the records and concentrate."

Undertaker began to sink to his knees, rapidly losing blood and energy as his reels continued to leak from him. He was forced to take some of his attention away from the demon in order to draw his own cinematic records back in—a feat most reapers weren’t capable of, but his experience with manipulating reels worked in his favor. He was dying. He needed to mend the damage to his throat if he was to survive, but his immediate concern right now was to hold together long enough to help his companions obtain a location. Even if he didn’t live to see his rose again, he could at least die with hope that the others could find and free her from Hypnos.

He saw Ronald give him a concerned look, and he shook his head, unable to draw breath to speak. He managed to stem the flood of records escaping, but his life’s blood was still pouring out. Looking at Sebastian’s records, he saw the events on the cargo ship replay and he had his answer concerning how Thanatos managed to capture the demon. He then saw a scene that both troubled him and renewed his hope — _seen through glowing bars warded to contain demon kind. Ciel was being dragged by Thanatos — who now looked as Khronos remembered him — into a room resembling Undertaker’s own basement laboratory, strapped to an examination table while Wundt — no…Hypnos wearing a different face — stood waiting with a cold, cruel smile on his face. A tray of instruments sat by the table, waiting to be used._

_"You will cooperate with us; Herr Demon," said the ancient as his companion strapped the struggling boy down, "or you will never sup on this child’s soul. He may survive this, but I doubt his soul will be as appetizing to you when I have finished."_

_One would assume he intended to use the medical instruments on Ciel, but that was not the case. Instead, Hypnos fitted a bite panel into Ciel’s mouth and secured it, before nodding at Thanatos to wheel over a machine_ _._

The machine had Undertaker’s hair standing on end.

_He prepared the electrodes hooked up to it and he secured them to Ciel’s scalp in strategic positions. While such therapy was known to be used on patients suffering acute depression and schizophrenia, they were supposed to be put under general anesthesia before undergoing the process. It was clear that Hypnos had no intention of granting that mercy to Ciel as he started up the machine and induced the seizures._

It was sickening to watch…and upsetting. Even some of Ronald’s anger seemed to evaporate as they witnessed Ciel’s torture, and Khronos found that he couldn’t fault Sebastian for his anger and desperation. It wasn’t love as mortals and reapers knew it that drove the butler, but a fierce sort of loyalty and devotion that made witnessing such a thing undoubtedly painful for Sebastian.

"Twisted," spat Ronald. "This guy is so fucking sick, to do that to a kid! Guy’s, we’ve gotta get Senpai away from him!"

All too aware of that fact, Undertaker kept his attention on the records, hoping for some hint that would lead them to the facility. There. It was there…in the reels showing his captors releasing Sebastian from his cage and making a bargain with him.

_"Bring back my Erdbeere, Mr. Michaelis, and your master may live to satisfy your hunger. Kill his meddling silver companion as well, if you can. I will supply you the necessary weapon to do so."_

The basement faded away into shadow and the next scene in the reel showed the outside of a sanitarium—obviously in the mortal realm, considering the structure of the building and the horse and buggy out front of it.

"I can’t even pronounce that," Ronald said, squinting at the German text over the front entrance of the facility.

Lawrence pronounced the words slowly. “‘Psychische Heilanstalt für Geisteskranke’. It roughly translates to ‘Psychic Cure Institution for the Mentally Ill’. Moira, please write that down. I have a notepad in my left fest pocket, as well as a pen.”

"But where th’ heck is it located?" Ronald questioned in a frustrated tone.

"We can discover that easily enough," answered Lawrence. "For now we simply need to write the name down. I can inquire to an associate about it over the phone. We must see to Khronos as soon as possible, though."

Moira dropped the pen and pad in her hands and rushed to the silver ancient’s side. She had just jotted down the name of the facility, when the retired reaper fell to his side, gasping.

"Khronos!" she cried as she pulled him into her lap. She pressed her hand to the gaping wound at his throat.

"Don’t give up. You have to hang on. Grell needs you," she ordered and looked up at her brother. "Lawrence, we have got to go. He needs help or he is going to die."

Blood seeped between her fingers. Eternal blood. The blood of the ancients. Her body shook with fear as she tried to keep her composure.

"Stay with me, Khronos," she whispered, rocking gently to keep him awake. "We’ll get her back, but we need you. We need your help to do so. Fight for her. Fight for Grell, Khronos."

He spit blood as he tried to speak Grell’s name, his hand blindly reaching for his now absent lover. Anderson took one look at his graying complexion and he made a swift decision. “Keep the demon pinned, Mr. Knox, whilst I create us a portal.”

Ronald cast a worried look at the Undertaker. “Better hurry it up, Pops! Looks like he’s bleeding out fast!”

Lawrence needed no prompting. He summoned the portal back to his home, and then he went to his sister’s side to help her get Khronos up. “Alright, Ronald,” he called to the blond, “release the butler and come on.”

Ronald did as he was told, but in one final act of contempt, he spat on Sebastian for good measure before going through the portal with his companions.

"Lawrence, we have to get him to the hospital…" Moira called out as they entered the reaper realm. "The wound is too deep. We can’t stop the bleeding."

"I know a trustworthy surgeon that can come on an emergency house call," explained Lawrence. "Ronald, take my place so that I can unlock the door. We can bring him into the unused servant chamber opposite the first floor study, for now. Best not to jostle him carrying him up the stairs."

"Got it," agreed Ronald, and he took Lawrence’s place at Undertaker’s feet, seeing as he couldn’t take his shoulders without taking extra time to switch places with Moira. The silver ancient was lighter than he expected though, and Moira appeared to have no difficulty carrying his upper half.

Lawrence quickly unlocked the door and opened it for his sister and Ronald to carry his friend inside. He guided them through the entry hall past the foot of the stairs, to a small room that served as a bedroom for household help, when he had any around. Fortunately he currently had none living with him; just a maid that came over three times per week to clean and then went home to her own place. While they carried the stricken ancient in, he fetched some towels from the nearby linen closet and he laid them down over the pillow to absorb the blood. He then ran to the study to ring up Dr. Winslow, trusting his sister to know where the basic medical supplies were and tend to Khronos.

Moments later, he returned to the little bedroom to see how his friend was doing. “Khronos,” he said as his sister wrapped his throat to slow the bleeding. “Look at me.”

The mortician’s gaze flicked to him, his pupils wide with shock. Lawrence managed a comforting smile for him. “Help is on the way, old friend. I have a very good physician preparing to teleport here as we speak. Just hang on. I promise you, we will get your lover back.”

Ronald’s hands were shaking slightly as he combed his fingers through his feathered hair. “Why didn’t we just take him to the hospital? They’ve got equipment there that some house doctor isn’t gonna have.”

"He’s a surgeon," reminded Anderson, "and he will bring what he needs with him; including the special suturing thread to close a scythe wound. I did not want to check Khronos in to the hospital because our enemy has connections in the medical field, and I prefer he not find out that Khronos survived the attack and is vulnerable to another. He’s sure to have allies there that would be willing to try and strike again before Khronos can recover and be released from medical care."

"Oh." Ronald grimaced. "Didn’t think of that."

The doorbell rang, and Lawrence looked up from his injured friend. “That would be Dr. Winslow now. I’ll go and let him in. Keep talking to Khronos while I bring the doctor.”

"Ronald, go make sure no one was able to break my brother’s charms, sigils and other what have you’s on the house," suggested Moira. "It is possible the house has been staked out and watched or even penetrated. Be careful and don’t do anything foolish if you find anything amiss. My brother can be over confident sometimes. Please make sure we are indeed safe."

She then turned her attention back to Khronos. “Khronos, don’t fall asleep, love. Stay with us.”

As Ronald went off to comply, Undertaker squeezed Moira’s hand weakly. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, and blood smeared between their two hands. A tear leaked from the corner of his left eye. “Grell,” he mouthed, his gaze pleading on her. “Save…my rose.”

He wanted to live, wanted to see Grell again and rid the world of the threat to her once and for all…but he was so bloody tired. Just holding Moira’s hand took an effort.

Tears snuck out of the corners of Moira’s eyes as she smiled and leaned forward. She raised his frighteningly pale hands to her mouth and kissed them, careless of the blood that stained her lips in return for doing so.

"You are going to get your ‘rose’ back, Khronos. You are going to be there, right alongside us, when we find her. And you are going to rescue her and carry her home…in your arms. You hear me, Khronos? You are going to live, damn it! I won’t let you die now, you old fool."

Anderson came in with a tall Shinigami with feathered, collar-length blond hair, wearing a long brown coat and sporting brass, wire-framed glasses of an oval shape. “This is Dr. Steven Winslow,” he introduced. “Steven, this is my sister Moira and that’s your patient on the bed there.”

"Hello, hello, and please move," said the doctor, coming up to the bedside and putting down his bag.

Lawrence gently ushered his sister aside so that the doctor could work over Khronos, quite used to his rather candid approach. “Is there anything we can fetch for you, Steven?”

"Hot water," answered the doctor, opening up his medical bag to begin retrieving items from it. "And a towel. Bring the water in a bowl large enough for me to rinse my hands off once I apply the hand-washing foam. Other than that, all I need from you is silence so that I can concentrate."

"Right away," promised Lawrence. "Come, Moira. Let’s stay out of the man’s way. Where is Mr. Knox?"

Reluctantly, Moira allowed her brother to escort her out of the room, though she continued to look over her shoulder as she exited. She was sick with worry for not only her granddaughter, but for her long time friend and fellow Grim Reaper.

"He…he is checking the house over," she replied, turning to face Lawrence in the hall. Her hands were covered in blood, alongside her dress, and they shook as she held them out in front of herself. "I need to sit down."

Moira felt sick with shock. She felt betrayed and confused by what she had laid witness to. While she had never been close to Thanatos or his brother Hypnos, she could neither believe the cruelty in which was displayed tonight. Her own kind had unleashed a demon upon them—a demon that could have killed them all—and then she was forced to watch as Grell was dragged away before her very eyes. Now in the room behind her, Khronos was hanging on by a thread. She could feel the cold hand of Death when she touched him. The stench of Death surrounding him. She was not accustomed to seeing a Reaper on the verge of Death.

Lawrence guided her into the kitchen and he pulled out a bar stool for her. “By all means, sit. I shall retrieve what the doctor needs. In the meantime, perhaps some tea or something stronger might help settle your nerves.”

He glanced at his shaking hand as he reached for the cabinet knob to open it and retrieve the requested bowl. “Mine too, I think. Gads, we’ll all be drunkards before this is over with, at this rate.”

He hastened to fill the large mixing bowl with hot water and he retrieved a fresh dishtowel from a small drawer. Ronald came in as he was finishing up, the boy’s expression somber and anxious at the same time. “Hey, there you are,” he sighed. “I just got barked at by the guy working on ‘Taker. Thought he might rip my head off when I went in there looking for ya. So anyway, the place is clean. Nobody’s been here while we were gone and I dunno much about glyphs and whatever, but it all felt okay to me.”

"Good," said Lawrence. "Why don’t you keep my sister company while I bring this to Dr. Winslow?"

"Can do," agreed Ronald, and he pulled up a seat beside Moira. His brow crinkled a little at her devastated expression, and he reached out to place a hand over hers. "You okay?"

Moira slowly raised her head and looked at the blond across from her. “I…I don’t know.”

Her face twisted as she glanced at her bloodied hands and then at her dress. “I don’t understand. Why are they doing this? What do they stand to gain, by killing Khronos? Taking Grell? I’ve never seen such perversion in Reapers before. I am disgusted and frightened.”

Ronald frowned at her hands, and he got up abruptly and went to the sink to wet and soap up the sponge he found there. He brought it and a clean dishtowel to her. “Here,” he offered, setting the towel down and taking her wrist gently. “Let me clean that up some for ya.”

He began to sponge the blood from her hand, his actions clumsy but well-meaning. He wasn’t much of a caregiver, but he could at least get the blood off her hands. “Pretty hands like these shouldn’t be all stained up.”

He sighed, “I dunno what to say about what Hippo and Thingy-jig are pulling. Maybe living so long just drove ‘em crazy, or maybe they were always assholes and they just knew how to hide it better, back in the day. ‘Taker might act like a kook and do some pretty messed up things, but he’s not…well…evil. You and Pops are okay too, so it’s kind of hard to pass it off as them losing their minds ‘cause they’re fossils. Um…not that you’re a fossil. I just mean if it was because they’ve lived so long, the rest of you wouldn’t be so cool.”

Moira watched silently, barely hearing the blond speak. Her white flesh was slowly reappearing as the blood was wiped away. Her body trembled, but slowly she looked up at the blond. Her eyes were watering and ready to spill with fresh tears.

"That demon…he almost killed Khronos and he could have killed you as well."

Ronald looked into her eyes, and a peculiar feeling came over him. This was practically a goddess sitting here before him, and yet she was vulnerable…scared. He wiped her hands off with the towel and he circled around to her side of the counter bar. He slid his fingers under her chin to gently urge her to look at him.

"Hey, he’s still alive, and so are we," he murmured. "And all those scars he’s already got…those are from scythes too, right? If he could live through being cut up that much, he can live through this, too. Don’t even get me started on how mad I am at that stupid butler…I knew he was bad news but Senpai really liked him for a while. Wish we’d finished him off a long time ago."

He sighed, searching for the words to comfort her. He might be a world-class flirt, but he wasn’t a wise reaper. “We’ll get Grell back. Somehow, some way, we’ll get him back and the bastards that started all this are gonna rue the day they messed with him. You’ve just gotta have some faith, and remember you’re a goddess.” Ronald smirked. “Nobody messes with you, right?”

He impulsively brushed a tear away from her cheek as it trickled free from her right eye. “So don’t be so worried, ‘kay? I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing half the time, but I know we’re gonna clean house. I’m sure of that much.”

He started to give her a kiss on the lips, but he changed his trajectory and went for her cheek instead, feeling like it was totally the wrong time to go for mouth smoochies. “I know I’m not an ancient or anything, but Knoxie’s got your back.”

Moira held her breath and closed her eyes as he pressed his lips to her cheek and then he was there speaking again. She slowly opened her eyes and stared back into his. She had thought he would kiss her on the lips and then he didn’t, but chose the cheek instead. Inwardly, a part of her wished he had…wished he had kissed her senseless. Make her forget that the world was falling apart all around them or at least it seemed that way to her in that moment.

"Ronald…" She whispered, breathlessly.

Ronald stared at her, and he swallowed. He knew that look…knew what she wanted. He wanted it too but shit in Sri Lanka, wasn’t this the worst time ever to…?

He couldn’t resist, though. With a defeated look, he breathed: “Oh, I’m goin’ to Hell…please don’t slap me for this.”

Then he kissed her on the mouth, his heart drumming at a rapid tempo in his chest. His fingers slid through her glossy, dark hair and he put his free arm around her waist. He dropped the dishcloth to the floor carelessly, his own emotions in turmoil. Her lips were like a salve on a wound, and he deepened the kiss, aching with a need for solace and something else that scared the living shit out of him.

Instinctively her eyes shut as her mouth was ravished. Gracefully, she slipped off the stool, allowing Ronald to pull her into his arms. She moaned softly, her hands flat against his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart beneath her palm and she shivered. Her mind raced in circles. What was she doing? This was not the time to be doing this…and yet she was. He was warm, comforting and she felt safe here and now in his arms. It had been so long since a man had held her in such a manner. A long time since she had been kissed so passionately. Her nerves were shot. Her heart ached and she was frightened for the first time in her existence, but Ronald was the calm to the storm raging within her. Gradually, she broke the kiss and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The turmoil boiling inside, finally bubbled to the surface, spilling over and she wept openly in his arms.

Ronald held her close and stroked her hair, rocking her. He usually didn’t know what to do when a woman cried, but now it was just coming naturally to him. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured against her ear. “Promise. It’s okay, beautiful. I’ve got ya.”

"I’m sorry…. I…I don’t usually make a display of myself," she whispered, sniffling. "Just nothing makes sense to me. And Grell… I’m so frightened for her."

"It’s all right. You’ve got plenty of reason to be worried. Gell’s your blood, right? You don’t need to be embarrassed for showing a little emotion."

He kept holding her and rocking her, feeling a wave of protectiveness. He barely knew her, but something about her just triggered all those feelings he’d tricked himself into thinking he was immune from. It was scary but a little thrilling, too. Maybe it was just a really strong crush. Maybe it was something more than that. All he knew was he’d never been knocked right out of his socks like this before. He turned his head and kissed her cheek, doing his best to put aside his own concern for both Grell and the Undertaker. Strange how he’d been about ready to break down himself, but when he saw her so vulnerable he suddenly forgot his own anxiety.

Lawrence came into the kitchen and when he saw them that way, he parted his lips to say something. He changed his mind and quietly left to go and check on the doctor’s progress with Khronos, deciding to give them a moment of privacy to comfort each other.

"I don’t show emotion, not like this," Moira replied lifting her head, so she could look at Ronald. Her eyes darted back and forth, glossy with unshed tears. "I…I am… I have always… This isn’t me. I am the voice of reason. The pillar of strength. I don’t cry. I comfort. I…"

She backed away, taking a couple of steps before she turned from him and covered her face. “I… This is why…” She shook her head.

"Why what?" asked Ronald. He started to reach out for her again, but he hesitated. Her closed body language suggested she wouldn’t welcome it. "You don’t always have to be the pillar. Sometimes the strong ones need comfort too, ya know?"

"I do. If I let anyone in…if I give in…my heart…I would go insane. I would become like those hurting Grell. You have no idea what I am capable of," she ranted, covering her face once more. Anger simmering beneath the surface, Moira felt like exploding, like slaughtering something, anything.

"We’re monsters at the root. We can destroy without remorse. We can create plagues and spread them like wild fire, across the lands. We are pure death. We were never meant to be anything else. We weren’t supposed to care or show emotion. We weren’t supposed to laugh and love. We were supreme beings."

Moira lowered her hands to her sides and trembled as she turned back to Ronald and looked up at him. A storm was brewing behind her two-toned green eyes. They flickered, similar to the way demons and angel’s eyes did. Then they began to soften as she saw the shock on Ronald’s face and she softened the tone of her voice to match her eyes.

"They bound us to this plane of existence. Forced us to become what we weren’t, out of fear. We were shackled and our powers nearly stripped of us. Forbidden to use our abilities, we were forced to hide our true selves…even from our own kind, when we began to create them from the once living."

Ronald tried to understand. The concept was so huge to him, though. He focused on the first part of her rant. “So you’re saying Death can’t love, eh? Looks like someone forgot to tell ‘Khronos’ that. Grell too.”

He pointed in the general direction of the room where the mortician lay on the brink of death, his life completely in the hands of the surgeon that Lawrence had summoned. “The old man’s in there dying right now because he loves someone so much he’s willing to fuck with time itself just to be with him, and Grell was willing to go back to that psycho Wundt or Hippo or whatever you call him, just to save ‘Taker’s life. If that ain’t love, I dunno what is.”

He winced at his own word usage and stuck his hands into his pockets, flushing a little. It seemed wrong to use vulgarities in front of Moira. “‘Scuse my French, but it’s the truth. Okay, death is what we do…but it doesn’t have to be the only thing we are, does it? I’ve got no idea what it was like for you and the others to live like gods…real gods…and then suddenly get knocked from your pillar and leashed up. I’m real sorry that happened to you. Just don’t try to shut Grell out of your heart. He’s your grandson…er…daughter…whatever. If you can find room in there for anyone, it ought to be him…um…her. Shit, I’m so confused now…”

He pulled a hand out of his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair, staring down at his shoes. His confusion wasn’t just over Grell’s gender identity. He wasn’t blind to the additional implications of her fear of love. He could read between the lines and his heart skipped a beat at the possibility that she could maybe start to love him.

"I used to never believe in love," he confessed, looking at her again. He shrugged. "I used to figure it was just nature’s way of tricking people into having babies, but maybe I got that confused with sex. Anyway…I thought it was all a load of bull. I never felt it before, and I see people breaking up and leaving each other all the time. Yeah, maybe they’re fond of each other for a while and maybe they think they love each other, but I never figured it was real."

He smiled a little. “Then I saw Senpai and Undertaker together…saw how determined the old fart was to get Grell back…saw how devoted Senpai was to him. Grell used to throw himself at every guy he thought was cute, but now he’s only got eyes for Undy. So maybe ‘true love’ isn’t a myth. Maybe some of us can’t love like that, but…but ya should at least let yourself love your own descendant, even if ya can’t let yourself be in love with anyone. I…I’m not asking for your heart. We just met, and even though you make me feel funny, I dunno if I can love that way, either. I just want to give you some comfort, save Undertaker’s ass, get my Senpai back, kill the arseholes that took him and then take you out somewhere nice in celebration…in that order.”

Moira wiped the tears from her cheeks and then approached the blond. Tenderly she placed her palm to his flushed cheek. “If I were incapable of loving someone, Grell would not be here.”

Her breath hitched as she looked down. The past flooded her mind, making her chest ache. “I was the first of us to express love. I fell in love with one of the first mortals reborn as a reaper. We weren’t supposed to be capable to feeling such passion. I wasn’t supposed to be able to conceive a child, either.”

Shaking her head, Moira stepped around Ronald and went to the stove and picked up the kettle. As she held it under the water faucet, she huffed and then chuckled.

"Death. How did death create new life? The powers that be realized they had made a mistake in our design. They forgot the one universal principal, that all things alive find ways to contribute, to replant, to reproduce. Nothing is ever truly dead or void of compassion, or feeling. We were not immune to expressing desire and the need to connect. We were no different. We were just as alive as the angels. Just as alive as the grass that grows beneath your feet."

The kettle was now full of water, and she walked back to the stove and turned up the flame to boil it. Tea. She was supposed to be preparing tea for them all.

"They didn’t want me to have my little girl. They ordered that Thanatos or Khronos kill her before she was born. Both refused. As punishment, they executed my lover. Lawrence helped me raise her. They used his execution as an example. But they failed."

Downhearted, she began to scoop the tea into the pot. The memories cutting like knives across her heart.

"Sparks of memories and traces of their old lives surfaced in the created reapers. The powers that be could not stop us from evolving. They couldn’t keep us from feeling. But an eternity full of memories, of the past..it weighed heavily on the made reapers. For some it began to drive them insane. Even us, the first Grim Reapers, began to feel our minds slipping after sometime."

Ronald grimaced. “Yeah…I know.” His old classmate had been one of those unfortunates.

"Ronald?" Moira walked up to him. She could see the sadness in his eyes. Worried she had hurt him inadvertently, she inquired as she touched his hand. "Have I upset you?"

He gave a little start, and he shook his thoughts out of his past, forcing a smile. “I’m all right. I’m really sorry to hear about your lover, though.” He rubbed her arms, wanting to embrace her but worried he might upset her again.

Anderson came in, his features grave. “It seems that Khronos has an equal chance of surviving as he does dying—which is better than the odds were before.”

He dug his pipe and pouch out, choosing not to comment on their closeness. “If you will pardon me, I’m going out on the deck to smoke. Please let me know when the tea is ready.”

Ronald nodded. “Will do, Pops.”

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

"Get your hands off me!" Grell hissed, trying to yank himself free from the hold, Wundt’s goons had on him.

  
White walls surrounded them and flames flickered in the sconces lining the walls of the narrow hallway he was being dragged down. The grips of their hands dug into the flesh of his arms. At the end of the hall before them stood two heavy, ominous doors. Panic welled up inside Grell and he struggled harder.  
  
“No! Let me go! Don’t take me in there.”  
  
Strands of his hair came loose and fell over his face, like a sheer curtain obstructing his view. The doors creaked as they were slowly opened and another reaper emerged, heading straight for them. Grell kicked out as the approaching reaper reached for his legs.  
  
“No! Don’t touch me! No!” he screamed, the sound of his shrill cries bouncing off the walls and echoing down the corridor behind them.  
  
He thrashed his body and gnashed his teeth at them. Still, their hold on him remained strong. There was no sign of fatigue on their part. As they passed through the door frame, Grell’s eyes enlarged, dilating. Fear’s hand wrapped cruelly around his throat, leaving him breathless. In the middle of the room was a golden cage. It was in the shape of a square, with nothing inside…approximately eight feet by eight feet in diameter.  
  
“Don’t put me in there! Please don’t put me in there!” he cried out as the third reaper released his legs and unlocked the cage, swinging its door open.  
  
Saying nothing at all, Wundt’s goons tossed the redhead roughly and effortlessly into the gilded cage. Grell landed hard onto the cold cement floor, his skirt ripping in the process. The third reaper swung the door shut quickly and locked it. All three reapers backed away as the floor around the cage began to glow. A sigil activated on the floor, sealing him within the cage.  
  
Dazed from hitting his forehead on the floor, Grell opened his eyes as the ground beneath him began to shake. He scrambled to his feet and looked down wide eyed and fearful. As the seal set, the ground settled and he lunged for the bars and shook them, screaming as tears rushed down his face.  
  
“Let me out of here!”

 

* * *

 

Two hours after he began working over Khronos, Dr. Winslow finally emerged from the bedroom. He went into the kitchen where Lawrence and Ronald were having a drink together, and he disposed of his bloodied sterile gloves in the trash under the sink. He had removed his blood-stained apron and the facial mask he’d worn while doctoring the stricken reaper, and anyone who didn’t know any better might not have guessed he’d just finished mending a slit throat.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," he announced. "Where is your sister, Lawrence?"

"Out on the deck," answered the ancient. "She wanted a bit of time alone. Tell us the news first and we can relay it to her."

"Is he gonna make it?" Ronald asked, putting down his whiskey.

"Yes," answered Dr. Winslow. "He’s stabilized now, and I’ve injected him with a blood replenishment serum that will help his body replace what he’s lost quickly. The scythe sutures and mending ointment will close the wound overnight, and the sutures will dissolve on their own in a few days. There’s no way to prevent some scarring, but it won’t be as severe as the ones he already bears. Fortunately, methods of treating scythe injuries have advanced since the last time he took a blade. He’ll need to keep the bandaging on until the wound has sealed up."

"And what is the bad news?" inquired Lawrence.

The doctor sighed. “His vocal chords were badly damaged. They may heal over time. Given the scarring already around his throat, it seems they’ve done so before; but it’s too early to tell if they’ll do the same again. There is a possibility he may come out permanently mute from this.”

Ronald’s brows went up. “Some people might call that a blessing,” he quipped, just buzzed enough to crack an inappropriate joke. When Anderson gave him an admonishing look, the blond bit his lip and looked sheepish. “Sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say.”

"What can we do to help him?" asked Lawrence.

"Make sure he avoids hot beverages and alcohol until the injury heals," instructed Dr. Winslow. "I have a touch screen pad that I use for quick notes that he can use to communicate with, while his voice is inoperable. I’ll leave it on the bedside table in there. It’s simple enough to operate and he can text messages onto the screen and use it as a note pad."

"I’ll show him how," promised Ronald. "I’ve got one of those in my desk that the boss gave to me for Christmas one year. He thought it would help me be more organized but all I ever use it for is my grocery lists and taking down phone numbers when I go out."

Anderson shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, Steven. He might be dead now, if it weren’t for you. Add the cost of that touch pad to the total when you bill me, so that I can reimburse you for it.”

The doctor nodded. “I would love to know what Legendary Death is doing in your home with such a critical injury,” he smirked, “But given your request for complete discretion, I don’t expect an answer to that.”

"Perhaps some day," Lawrence said evasively. "Steven, would you happen to know anything about a psychiatric specialist by the name of Wilhelm Wundt? I know you don’t generally mingle with the psychiatric department."

Dr. Winslow’s expression of recognition wasn’t exactly flattering. “I’ve crossed paths with him before when patients have been admitted for self-inflicted scythe injuries in suicidal attempts. While he has managed to stabilize some of them enough for them to either return to Dispatch or retire as civilians, something about that man doesn’t sit right with me. He doesn’t look at his patients like a doctor should. Yes, we must remain objective in our work just like Dispatch agents, so that emotion doesn’t cloud our judgment, but I always got the feeling he was looking at them as objects. Most of his patients are still institutionalized in the mental ward in Shinigami London. He passes inspections, but I still wonder sometimes if he uses entirely ethical methods with them.”

Steven looked faintly suspicious when Lawrence exchanged a glance with Ronald. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the reaper I just treated, would it? Is that why you requested a house call, rather than taking him into the hospital? Did he inflict this injury himself, Lawrence?”

"Yeah, that’s what happened," Ronald said before Anderson could speak up. He shrugged, "I know a guy that used to be under Wundt’s care and he’s told me some pretty messed up things. I’ve been heading a secret investigation on him with Father Anderson’s help, and when we went to talk to Undertaker about it we found him like that and brought him straight here. I didn’t want the ‘Legend’ to end up in the hands of a quack ‘cause he tried to scythe himself, yanno?"

"If that’s the case, then he’s going to need counseling," advised the doctor in a disapproving tone. "Even if you go through another doctor…suicide attempts should not be put on the back burner."

"I know," answered Ronnie, "and I’ll have it arranged after I finish with the investigation…but until then, I don’t want word of this to get out. If Wundt’s a quack like we suspect, he’ll salivate at the thought of getting his hands on ‘Legendary Death’, don’tcha think? I don’t want him catching wind of this ‘till I know our suspicions are wrong."

"And who will watch over him in the meantime?" asked Dr. Winslow with a raised brow.

"My sister and I," offered Lawrence. "Don’t worry, Steven; we’ve known the Undertaker for some time and we will keep him in our care until Agent Knox’s investigation is complete. Tell me, do you know where Dr. Wundt operates in the mortal realm? The agents involved in this investigation have reason to believe he is running an illegal facility, somewhere in Germany."

Dr. Winslow frowned. “No, I had no idea he conducted business at all in the mortal realm. I’m sorry I can’t help you with that.”

"It was worth a try," sighed Lawrence. "Well, thank you very much for your intervention and discretion, my friend. I trust you to keep this to yourself for your own good as well as the patient’s. I shall see you out now."

Lawrence escorted him to the door and the doctor collected his medical bag on the way out. When he was gone, Anderson returned to the kitchen to find Ronald looking uncertainly out the French-paned door leading out to the deck.

"I think maybe you should be the one to tell her the news," sighed the blond. "I suck at explaining things like this and comforting people."

Anderson patted him on the shoulder. “I think you may be better at it than you think, Ronald. I will tell her the news, however. Try not to over-indulge and drink yourself into a stupor, though. We all need to retain our wits, if we are to locate and rescue my niece.”

Ronald nodded. “I know my limits and I’m not gonna put my temptation to get drunk over Senpai’s safety.”

"Good, then." Anderson went outside to give the news to Moira.

 

* * *

 

"Wundt!" Grell hollered from his tiny prison. Tears continuing to stream down his face. He was exhausted and unable to stand any longer. On the floor, holding onto the golden bars, he continued to scream and shout at the doors he had been dragged through hours earlier. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed and his heart ached. His lover murdered right before his very eyes. The image of Khronos’ throat being slashed, still fresh in his mind. Grell shook, remembering how the blood poured from the slit across his pale flesh.  
  
His stomach flipped and twisted into knots. Without anything to release into, he vomited at the base of the bars. Most of the contents of his stomach ending up on the outside of his cage. The room began to spin all around him as the stress finally overwhelmed him, threatening to overtake him completely. Whirling, he turned away from the bars and laid down on his upset stomach. His warm cheek pressed to the cold floor. A new wave of tears spilled from his red, puffy eyes.  
  
“Khronos…don’t leave me,” he whispered, sobbing.

 

* * *

 

Back at Anderson’s home, Undertaker tossed and turned, his pale hair matted with sweat. “Grell,” he tried to say, but his breath escaped his lips in a soundless huff. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t reach her, but he heard her in his very soul, crying out for him.

"I’ll find you," he mouthed, eyes open wide to stare blankly up at the ceiling. "I’m not gone, love…"

He put everything he had into it, trying to reach across space and time to touch his abducted lover, somehow. The effort exhausted him and his vision went black. Against his will, he fell back into his healing sleep, and a tear glistened on his silver lashes.

 

* * *

 

Bare feet padded down the hall as Moira emerged from her bedroom. She paused at the head of the stairs and looked over her shoulder at her brother’s closed bedroom door. It was just after midnight and another nightmare had jolted her awake. Frightened by what she had seen, she wrapped her arms around her waist and turned back to the stair case.  
  
It had been nearly four weeks since Grell had been stolen from them and Khronos had slipped into a healing sleep. He was unconscious of the world that continued to spin around him. For Moira, every night since had been plagued with fear and nightmares. Images of blood and torture invaded her peaceful dreams. Grell’s haunting face was always appearing. Tears were always in her eyes, but she could never see the man she knew was torturing her. The guilt of failure wore on Moira. She would wake up screaming or trembling in the wake of the demon’s attack and the abduction of her Granddaughter. She could no longer wait for Khronos to wake from his healing slumber. She could not bear one more night without at least attempting to save Grell from Hypnos.

She knew the name of the town the asylum was located in and the name of the facility. It would not take long to find the hospital Grell had been taken to, and she knew Lawrence would be angry with her if she left on her own. They had all agreed they would not be rash, but be sensible, to form a plan and leave together. But Khronos had yet to wake and Grell’s life hung in the balance. She had to go. No more waiting. Even now as she glided down the stairs, her heart raced with anticipation and fear. She had no idea what exactly Hypnos was doing to her grandchild and that lack of knowledge, frightened her even more so than her vivid imagination did.  
  
Quietly, she opened the door to the resting ancient’s guest room. Though it was actually in fact a room for household staff. It was the room they had placed him after the demon, Sebastian, had attempted to kill him. It was a small and private room at the back of the house and on the ground floor. They had decided to leave him there to sleep, rather than try to move him upstairs. It was sparse on furnishings and not grand by any means, yet it was comfortable and easily accessible for the doctor. He tried to stop by every few days to check upon his patient.  
  
Now, Moira stood in the doorway and looked over his seemingly lifeless body. Slowly, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She watched his face she glided over to the bed like a ghost. It was as if her feet never touched the floor. Heart aching, she sat down on the bed by his side and took his hand into hers. She raised it to her cheek and closed her eyes, nuzzling it affectionately.  
  
“I am so sorry, Khronos. We have not yet rescued her. But I swear, I will wait no longer. I cannot wait for you. She haunts my dreams. I feel her pain, her fear. I can no longer bear it. Please forgive me if I should fail…but I will fight with my last dying breath if I have to, to save her from him. I promise.” She softly spoke as tears built up in her eyes. As she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, a single tear fell from her right eye, landing on his pale cheek. “Don’t give up on us, Khronos. Come back to us…soon.”  
  
Making her vow, she laid his hand back down along his side on the blanket and rose from the bed. She paused at the door and glanced back at the sleeping reaper.  
  
“I promise,” she whispered and then opened the door and left him to continue his healing.  
  
Distraught, she did not ascend the stairs and return to her room. Instead she went to the downstairs guest room and knocked on the door. This was the room the displaced blond had been given as he could no longer return to his own residence. Word had spread throughout the reaper realm, that Ronald Knox of the Shinigami Dispatch Association was a traitor and at large as a fugitive. It was proclaimed he was in cahoots with the fugitive known as Undertaker, and that they had harbored and concealed the rogue reaper, Grell Sutcliff. Reports had surfaced stating that while Grell had been captured, Undertaker and Ronald were still at large. Armed and dangerous. Lawrence and Moira were still unsure as to why they had not been added to the list of criminals. Wundt’s goons and the demon had seen them that day at the train station, but perhaps it was their rank and their status that protected them. Whatever the case was, it at least allowed them to protect Khronos and Ronald from Dispatch.  
  
“Ronnie?” Moira whispered as she stuck her head just inside the guest room door. “Ronnie, can I come in?”

Ronald had just been having a wild and crazy dream when the soft voice awoke him. He rolled over in the bed and squinted, seeing a feminine shadow backlit by the soft lighting in the hallway. Reaching for his glasses clumsily, he put them on and he realized he wasn’t still dreaming.

"Moira?" he mumbled, his heart skipping a beat as usual in her presence. "Yeah…yeah, sure…come on in."

Thankful, she quietly closed the door and tip-toed hurriedly to the bed. Biting her bottom lip, she lifted the covers and climbed into the bed with him. This had become a nightly ritual. She would go to bed each night in her own room, but sometime in the night, the nightmares would come. Terrified by what she would see in her dreams, she would sneak downstairs and seek the comfort of the young reaper. Tonight she was more desperate for his company than ever before and scooted as close as possible, into his welcoming arms.  
  
“Ronnie, I have to go. I can’t stay and wait any longer. Grell…I have to get her out of there. We do not know when Khronos will awake. I can’t wait for him. I have to try and save her.” She explained as she laid her head down upon his bared chest. The heat from his body, soothing and comforting.

Ronald’s adrenaline spiked, and he held her close. “Well, you ain’t going alone. I’ll come with you. Pops can look after ‘Taker while we go after Senpai. I…I’ve thought of going myself, to be honest. I also thought of trying to contact Spears-senpai, but I can’t risk it ‘cause it might put everyone else in danger if he’s totally buying into the bullshit charges against me.”

He stroked her hair, realizing this could be the last night either of them ever saw again. “Moira…I really like you. I mean, more than I ever liked any other woman. I dunno if I’m…like…falling in love with you or what, but…it just keeps getting stronger and I can’t stop it, even if I wanted to.”

"Aye," she swallowed, "I haven’t felt…felt this way in sometime myself. I feel strongly for you as well. And yes, that feeling, it grows stronger every day. Every time I set my eyes on you. Every time we touch. Even the smallest of touches."  
  
She paused and looked up at him. “But…I must confess…I am afraid. I am afraid of what might happen, if I open my heart too much. I’ve loved and lost. I am not sure I could go through that again.”

He bent his knee, rubbing his thigh against hers in the process.

"I haven’t lost as much as you have, Moira, but…it scares the hell out of me too…this thing between us. I’d be real upset if anything happened to ya. I mean, I’d prolly go ballistic. I dunno what to do with this, to be honest. I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m not thinking of Senpai or ‘Taker or my messed up situation, I’m thinking of you and how much I love just…holding you like this."

He nuzzled her hair, inhaling the scent of jasmine that seemed to cling to her. “Never felt so protective,” he confessed in a whisper, “even though I know you’re a lot stronger than me…I still feel like I’d take a scythe for ya. I’ll kick anyone’s ass that tries to hurt you…or at least die trying.”

"Will you honestly help me?" she asked as she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Fuck yes," he answered immediately, and then he flushed and apologized, "Er…sorry. Feels wrong to cuss around you so much…but yeah. I’m totally in. Let’s go get Senpai. Um…before we do that, though…I feel like I’ve gotta do something else. Might be my last chance to do it."

He cupped her chin and he kissed her for the first time since the day in the kitchen. He’d wanted to do it again so many times, but he’d held back out of respect. It didn’t matter so much right now; they were going to be heading into serious danger and this might be the last time he got to feel those plush, shapely lips against his.

"Mmm… Ronnie…" she moaned, just as desperate for him.

She parted her lips and kissed him back urgently. Wantonly, she slid her leg up his; the springy, soft hair on his leg caressing her delicate flesh in the process. Carefully, not wanting to loose contact with his lips, she maneuvered so that she lay atop his body. His thigh was now pressed between her parted legs as she straddled it. Aroused by the sensation of his burgeoning member against her hip, she ground her sex into the base of his thigh; the friction igniting a sleeping fire deep within her.

"Oh, damn," he murmured against her lips, rubbing up against her. He hadn’t really expected such a response from her, and he ached with need. He wanted her so bad, and that desire was even more intensified thanks to their current situation. He slid his hands up her ribs and he cupped her firm, full breasts, greatly daring.

"Moira," he groaned, brushing his thumbs over her nipples through the satin, deep purple nightgown she wore. They pebbled under his touch, rising to peaks under the material. She was so perfect to him…so classically gorgeous. He wondered if he could even last for long if they made love, she excited him so easily.  
  
“Ronald,” she murmured breathlessly back.

Oh, that touch. That heavenly touch.

She pressed the breast he messaged further into the palm of his hand, her body begging for more. So long. It had been so long since a man held her…since she had been made love to. The fire inside grew and burned hotter with each flick of his thumb. A thin layer of moisture appeared alongside the ache between her legs. She groaned as she rubbed her sex against his thigh once more. She wanted him, right here, right now.  
  
“Make…love to…me Ronald.”

He didn’t need to be asked a second time. He rolled her over and kissed her desperately, entangling her in the sheets. He was straining in his boxers and he swore softly and reached down with one hand to yank them down, squirming out of them and kicking them aside. Moira’s silken thighs cradled him as he settled his hips between them, and he tensed as the tip of his flushed arousal brushed against the lacy panties she wore beneath her nightgown. This woman…she was like everything he’d ever dreamed of, all rolled into one perfect being.

"Think I’m dyin’," he moaned between kisses, now sliding the hand he’d used to take his boxers off up her smooth outer thigh.

He pushed the thin nightgown up, revealing her smooth, flat stomach to view. His hand slid up further, rumpling up the material of the gown as it went. He palmed the swell of her breast and he groaned again, gently undulating his hips to rub against that damp spot in her panties. Oh yeah, she was definitely into it. He dropped his hand back down, now more than a little desperate as he hooked his fingers into the delicate garment and tugged it down. Lifting his hips a bit to give her room enough, he slipped the panties down her legs.

In one swift movement, she was exposed and vulnerable to him. Naked before him. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. He was beautiful and charming. Fun and romantic. She looked deep into his eyes as he lowered his body to hers, cradled once more between her spread thighs. She combed her fingers through his two-toned hair as she pulled him down to kiss him, her head tilting to the side for better access. Passionately, they ravished each other’s mouths. The ache between her legs intensified as she moaned louder, indicating she was ready for him. Yes, she was ready for him. Yearning to feel him deep inside her.  
  
“Ronnie..” She breathed against his lips.

Ordinarily, Ronald would have put more effort into foreplay. He would have liked to tease her and pleasure her to at least one orgasm before he got down to the big business, but now he was so desperate to have her, he simply couldn’t wait. He lifted up a little to touch her and when he felt how moist her loins were against his fingertips, he knew he didn’t need to do anything to get her ready for him. Gasping her name once, more, he positioned himself and he lifted his head to look down at her as he drove his aching flesh into her waiting heat.

His breath caught and his brows furrowed, lips parting to emit a groan of satisfaction as he sank deeper and deeper into the snug warmth.

"Whooo," he blurted like an owl before he could stop himself. Fuck…what a dumbass. Here he was, making love to a goddess, and he was making funky bird noises. His inward berating didn’t last for long, though. Her nails dug into his back, stinging just enough to make it interesting, and her other hand grabbed his ass.

He tried not to cuss aloud…he really did…but then he withdrew and pumped again and all common sense departed for good. “Sh-shit…oh, Moira…”

He started thrusting then, kissing her with heated enthusiasm, his instincts taking over.

"Ronald…yes….yes…yes…" she groaned as she hugged his sides with her powerful, slender legs. The heels of her feet dug into his flexing rear end, and her breasts bounced with each thrust of his hips. This was better than she remembered.

"Unh…y-yeah, I’m dyin’," he confirmed, not entirely exaggerating.

The speed and force of his thrusts increased, making the bed bump against the wall. This was better than sex…oh, but that was what they were doing, right? Well, it was better than any other sex he’d ever had. She kept doing this nifty thing with her inner muscles, clenching around him each time he withdrew to squeeze his cock. It made him see stars. He kissed her again, his breath huffing with each pump as he drove into her. God, he was so bloody horny…she made him so crazy in a good way.

He palmed one of her creamy white breasts, teasing the pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he pounded away at her. He couldn’t hold back his groans for the death of him, and he was so glad they weren’t on the same floor of the house as her brother…and that Undertaker was still comatose. Each breathy moan she emitted spurred his desperation further, and the feel of her long legs wrapped around him aroused a primal urge.

"Oh God," he panted, thrusting even harder. "Oh sweet mother-fuck…I’m…n-no…not yet!"

He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold his climax at bay. Too soon…dammit, he wasn’t ready for it to end so quickly.

_~Come on, Ronnie…you can last longer than this. Don’t blow your load yet!~_

Moira’s climax was approaching just as quickly as Ronald’s. She wanted this moment to last much longer, but she could feel her orgasm charging. She would not be able to fight it much longer. Holding on for dear life, She dug her nails into the backs of his shoulders, her legs squeezing tighter around his waist.  
  
~No. No, not yet, Moira.~  
  
“Ronnie! I’m com-coming!” she screamed out as her muscles began to clench around him. “Oh! Ahh…ngh…Ronnie!”  
  
Her back arched and she pressed her head back into the pillows as she climaxed. Her nails dug deeper into his flesh, drawing blood. She felt like she would black out as jolts of electricity surged through her body. The muscles in her stomach and between her legs spasmed as Ronald continued to thrust into her.

He kissed her parted, vocal lips desperately, moaning at the sting of having his back shredded but way too into this to care. His thrusts quickened, his breath ragged and hitching as the clenching around his sex yanked the last shred of control he had out from under him like a rug. He reared back and stared down at her, eyes widening for a couple of seconds before going unfocused and fluttering shut.

"Hunh…ooohhh," he groaned, driving into her one last time and holding it there. He pulsed inside of her, his body trembling as he came so hard that he felt it all the way to the roots of his hair. He stayed tense over her for several heartbeats, helpless grunts emitting from him as he emptied every drop of seed he had available into her still-clenching grip. He twitched for a good minute inside of her, balls drawn tight with nothing left to ejaculate. Finally, he collapsed on her, still buried inside of her.

"Think…I saw the Divine there…for a sec," he panted when he could draw breath again. He lifted his forehead from her shoulder and he planted soft kisses over her stunning, dazed features. "Next time I’ll last longer…promise. I’ve…usually got…more stamina than that. Just wanted you so bad…I guess I was starving."

Of course, it was highly likely that there might not be a “next time”, and he was a little disconcerted with the thought of never getting the chance to prove to her that he could do a lot more than hump a chick silly like some animal in heat.

"We make it through this," he vowed, "I’ll wine and dine ya…and I’ll give you a lot more than one orgasm, gorgeous. Knoxie’s honor."

Moira chuckled as she wrapped her arms around him, her right hand messaging the back of his head. He was adorable like this. So afraid he had insulted her by completing so quickly. He was still cradled between her legs and inside of her. She didn’t want him to withdraw. The connection was…was what her aching soul needed. She would give anything to remain like this for as long as they could.  
  
“Ronald, no apologizing. I am not complaining, my silly boy. It was what I needed and what you needed as well. There will be plenty of time for wooing when we return. But for now let us cherish being in each other’s arms.” She kissed his lips tenderly, before whispering: “I can sleep, so long as you are holding me.”

He smiled at her, in no hurry to leave the snug warmth still sheathing him, or the silken embrace of her limbs around him. He sighed, laying his head against her shoulder. Could this be…maybe…the beginning of love? Is this what Grell felt for the Undertaker? He never thought he’d be the sort to fall so hard and fast for someone, but now he wasn’t so sure of that.

 

* * *

 

Long before the sun began to climb in the sky, Ronald and Moira woke up—prompted by the alarm he’d set on his phone so that they could get going before Lawrence awoke and came downstairs. Ronnie almost considered packing a change of clothes to take with him, but what point was there? It wasn’t like he was expecting to die…hell no, he wanted to live; especially now. He’d just learned lately that no matter how cocky or determined he was, and no matter how confident or fast, he couldn’t always win.

If there was any luck left at all in the universe, he and Moira would at least manage to get Grell out of there without being killed and get him safely back to Anderson’s. The kid and his butler weren’t Ronald’s priority—though for the sake of ‘Taker’s fondness of the Phantomhive brat, he’d at least try to free them too.

With a heavy sigh, he checked his things—including the new phone brought to him by Lawrence—and he stopped by Undertaker’s room to say a soft goodbye to him. He approached the still, deathly pale figure lying quiet and cold on the bed, and he impulsively checked for a pulse. It was so slow…only a beat a minute. No telling when the old guy might finally come out of it.

"Sorry, man," he whispered to the Undertaker. "I’m sorry this happened to ya. Sorry I wasn’t fast or strong enough. I wish you’d snap out of it so you could come with us, but Moira won’t wait any longer and I’m not about t’ let the lady go in there alone. I…I think I understand how you feel about Senpai now…at least, I’m starting to. I’ll do my best to help Moira and get Grell back. At least I know if we fail, you ought to wake up eventually and maybe you and Pops can finally get those bastards."

He gave Undertaker’s still hand a little pat. “Later, creepy-senpai. That’s what I’m calling ya from now on, okay? Thought you might get a kick out of it.”

He left the room then, and he waited at the foot of the staircase for Moira.

 

* * *

 

The room was gray and made of cement. A tiny window was cut above the bed, which was placed center of the far wall. It was just large enough to let in some natural light during the day and moonlight during the night. Iron bars were between each pane of glass to insure that if the patient occupying the room was to break the glass, they could still not escape. The bed was made of heavy wood and had only a mattress on it with standard white hospital sheets. A thick, dark green blanket lay rumbled at the foot of the bed. A set of restrains were set in each of the four bed posts, in case the patient needed to be restrained.  
  
Next to the bed was a little night stand. There was no drawers, only two shelves and it housed a few books for the patient to read and keep themselves from being bored when not in ‘therapy’. An extra blanket was stored on the bottom shelf. The patient was given only one pillow to sleep with. In the far left corner of the room was a commode and a water pump with a sink. Some would say the room was specially designed for a special patient and in the case of Grell Sutcliff, they would be correct.  
  
Doctor Wundt had this room especially designed for the redhead. It needed to appear to be a hospital room, in an asylum, yet he wanted it to be somewhat more ‘luxurious’ for his special patient. He wanted Grell to be as comfortable as possible, while he underwent treatment for his ‘killing lust’ for mortals and other false conditions. Some of which were ‘blood lust’ and the desire to ‘mate’ with mortals. It was a sick disorder to Wundt and a large class of reapers. And as for Grell, he had only ever fallen in love with one mortal and she was no more. After the loss of Angelina Durless-Barnet, Grell had little desire to socialize with most mortals, despite choosing to continue living amongst them. But Wundt would use any excuse to keep him there under his thumb.  
  
And as the dawn once more returned and the sun began to rise into the morning sky, Grell lay curled in a ball on his bed. He was distraught and had been ever since being placed in the asylum. The last images he had were of his onetime fancy, murdering his lover. He knew Sebastian was a powerful demon and mayhap have killed his family alongside the ancient. He knew that Sebastian had survived. The demon returned a day later looking worn and ragged. And as predicted, Wundt had the foolish creature caged upon his return.  
  
It was on that day that Wundt made his appearance. With his goons in tow and Sebastian chained to the wall in the room he himself had been caged, Wundt had made Grell take off his all of his clothes. Forced him to stand naked in front of all of them, to humiliate him and shame him before the demon he once lusted after, his new female body exposed and exploited.  
  
Once satisfied, Wundt had dressed him in a hospital gown and tied his hair up into a ponytail. A hospital bracelet for patients was secured to his left wrist and he was dragged down to his room and now, current home. The special observation room, located in the back of the hospital where Wundt’s special patients were housed. Though currently, Grell, Sebastian and he assumed Ciel were the only patients staying in that wing. However, Grell had yet to lay eyes on the young boy and often wondered if he had survived Wundt’s experiments.  
  
Now, the chill morning air breathed upon his exposed skin and he shivered as he stared at the blank, gray wall across from him.  
  
“Erdbeere, are you not feeling well this morning?” Wundt asked as he stood from the bed and pulled his trousers up.  
  
Grell trembled as he pushed himself up. He sat with his feet flat on the cold floor and his gown hanging off of his shoulder. His hair spilling from its pony tail. He did not acknowledge the Doctor’s inquiry, just continued to stare straight out at the wall. Then his stomach gurgled and his cheeks puffed up. Clutching his tummy with his left hand and his right covering his mouth, he made a mad dash for the commode in the corner. Barely making it in time, the redhead emptied what little contents he had in his stomach.  
  
“You are not well, Grell. This is the fourth day in a row you have thrown up after we have made love. I am beginning to feel insulted. And you are refusing to eat your breakfast, Hans tells me.” Wundt pulled his white coat on and as he adjusted the stiff collar, he approached the heaving reaper. He knelt down next to Grell and he gingerly touched the top of his crimson head. “Grell, you must eat. If you do not, I will be forced to strap you to the bed and feed you through your veins. I am not above bringing some equipment here to do so. So I ask you to eat.”  
  
“Eating makes it worse. At least in the mornings,” Grell replied wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I cannot stomach food right now and I have no bloody, fucking idea why.”  
  
Wundt wagged his finger and scolded the redhead. “Aught, aught, Grell, temper. I would hate to have to punish you for being disrespectful. And after the courtesies I have shown you.”  
  
Grell looked up at the Doctor. his brows pinched together pensively. “Please don’t. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t feel well. I have no idea why. It only occurs in the morning. The nausea goes away usually by noon time, when my lunch arrives. I swear, Wundt. I just can’t get breakfast down. It makes me sicker.”  
  
“Is that so? Just breakfast? Hmm… I shall need to monitor you more closely, then. And perhaps I should run a physical on you. After all, my brother did alter you more than I imagined he would. Perhaps you are suffering from some side effects.” Wundt smiled as he stood. “Worry not, my little Erdbeere, I shall take care of you. Now, let me help you up.”  
  
“I can get up on my own.” Grell rebelled, not wanting to be touched by the man anymore that morning.  
  
Grell had been there one week before the Doctor began visiting him of a morning. It was always just before dawn and before staff arrived…before the other patients woke. At first Grell fought back and Wundt had to restrain him, but as reality settled in and there was no sign of anyone coming for him, Grell caved in and gave up. He could only presume Sebastian had killed them all or they knew not where he was; and so the numbness had settled in. So each morning he would lie there, allowing Wundt to use his body. It no longer mattered to Grell, his lover was dead, his family gone and the only hope he had when he arrived had flown out of the window. There was no way to escape and no one was coming for him.  
  
“Grell do not be troublesome. I will not ask politely again. Allow me to help you up or I will pull you up by your hair.”  
  
Frightened like a little child, Grell turned and began to crawl as fast as he could away from Wundt. He could not say why he decided to try and crawl away, if anyone were to ask, it was just a knee jerk reaction; he just had to try and get away from the Doctor. He was terrified of being touched again by Wundt and so he scrambled to get as far away from him as possible. However, his efforts proved to be in vain as Wundt came up behind him and grabbed him by the hair. Grell kicked out, screaming as he was hoisted and pulled to his feet.  
  
“Erdbeere, such a naughty reaper. What have I told you about behaving in such a manner?” Wundt snarled into Grell’s ear as he held the redhead close to his body. “Must I punish you? Is that what you want?”  
  
“No! Let me go, Wundt!” Grell cried out as tears fell from his eyes and his body shook in the Doctor’s arms. “Please?! Don’t hurt me?!”  
  
“Behave and obey me, Grell or I will have no other choice. Understand?”  
  
Grell nodded, “Yes… “  
  
Wundt chuckled and let go of the redhead. He watched as Grell ran to the bed and dove under the covers, pulling his sheets and blanket over his crimson head. The sound of Wundt’s shoes echoed off the walls as he slowly approached the trembling reaper.  
  
“I shall leave you to rest. Try and eat as best you can, when Hans brings you your breakfast. I will check up on you at lunch time and see if you are feeling any better. For now rest. I will suspend our therapy lessons until you feel better.”  
  
Wundt turned towards the iron barred door and opened it. He didn’t turn back and glance at the redhead or say another word. Quietly, he stepped out of the room. The sound of a key turning in its lock was all Grell heard. He was to afraid to turn over and verify that Wundt had left him. He closed his eyes, his body shaking still as he wept. The only thing he had left was the memory of his lover’s smiling face and that, that made him cry even harder. Then finally after some time, exhaustion overtook him and he fell back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Lawrence awoke shortly after sunrise, and he yawned and stretched as he sat up, checking the clock before getting up. He made his bed and he donned his robe, retrieving his pipe and tobacco pouch for his morning ritual. Breakfast came first—though Ronald, he’d learned, was terribly difficult to wake before noon and often had lunch as his first meal of the day. A smoke on the deck came afterwards, followed by the morning checkup on Khronos. His sister was getting more anxious with each passing day, and he was beginning to wonder if he should keep insisting they wait for Khronos to come out of his coma. Once the most powerful of all of them, the silver reaper hadn’t been able to employ even a fraction of his old powers when it counted the most. Anderson presumed he was under too much duress to do so, and now he lay helpless as a newborn, his body in a stasis as it healed.

Even should he wake, he would likely be weakened; possibly too weak to defend himself, should anyone get through Anderson’s wards and into the house uninvited. That was the only thing really keeping him from giving in and going on a rescue mission with Moira and Knox. He couldn’t in good conscience leave his old friend unguarded in such a vulnerable state. Should they fail and should Hypnos discover that Khronos had survived the demon’s attack and was alone and helpless, Lawrence had little doubt he would send someone to finish him off.

Responsibility was such a burden. He sometimes wished he could be more careless, like the Undertaker persona that Khronos took on over the years, or like Mister Knox. It simply wasn’t in his nature to do so. If it were just him, Lawrence would have gone after Grell in a heartbeat…but he had someone else to think of…someone dependant on him. Wundt likely expected and even counted on him and Moira attempting to come and rescue Grell. If he could remove them from the equation, then he and Thanatos would have nobody of significant power to challenge their goals. They would be the last remaining ancients—save Khronos, if they didn’t come for him.

His thoughts directed his feet not to the kitchen, but to the comatose ancient’s bedroom. Beginning to feel a bit desperate, Lawrence walked in to check on him sooner, rather than later—clinging to the faint hope that he might miraculously wake up.

"Khronos," he started to say…and then he stopped and stared. There was a note on his friend’s still chest. As he put his glasses on and approached, he recognized the handwriting as his sister’s flowing script, and a sick feeling arose within him. "Oh, don’t tell me…"

But as he picked it up and read it, his fears were confirmed.

_Brother,_

_I can no longer wait for Khronos to awaken to go after my progeny. I feel her suffering and despair grow stronger with each day, and I fear she will be forever lost to us if I wait much longer. Ronnie has kindly offered to come with me to retrieve Grell. I am sorry, Moros. I understand why you wished to wait, but I simply cannot do it any longer. Should we succeed, we will bring Grell back home with us. If not, I pray you keep Khronos safe and eventually find a way to rescue my grandchild._

_Be well, my brother._

_-Atropos._

Lawrence lowered the letter with a heavy sigh. “Good gracious. I saw this coming. I had hoped it wouldn’t happen before…”

His gaze flicked to Khronos, and he impulsively slapped his cool cheek. “Damn it, wake up! You are needed!”

He sighed again and combed his fingers through his gray-streaked hair. “Khronos, you must come back to us. I daresay it isn’t the Undertaker we need now, charming as I find his antics. We need you, Khronos. We need the god of time, and we need him quickly. I…honestly don’t know what to do, now. I cannot leave you here defenseless, but my sister and that young agent are most likely walking into a trap. They may beat the odds, but I fear I see their doom coming closer by the moment. Please, old boy…wake up and come back to yourself; the way you did before when you rescued Celeste.”

He bowed his head, torn. “Please,” he finished in a murmur.

 

* * *

 

**-To be continued**


	18. Chapter 18

"Well this room is not what I expected." Moira announced as they opened the door to the little hotel room Ronald and herself checked out for their stay in Germany.

  
Her plan was to get there and find Grell post haste and return home. However, due to their ill-advised detour to Dispatch Headquarters, they arrived later than she had desired, in Germany. Not to mention, Ronald had gained a few nicks and scratches here and there that needed mending; first. So reluctantly, Moira chose to find a little inn to stay in for the night. She hoped with a good night’s rest and warm food to fill their bellies, they would locate the asylum quickly in the morning, and be ready for anything that might come their way. All she wanted was to find Grell and high tail it out of Germany as fast as they could.  
  
“Ronnie, take a seat there, and let me have a look at those cuts on your arm. I need to make sure they are healing properly. ” She pointed to the bed and removed her hat from her head as she entered the quaint little room.

He went to the bed—or rather, stumbled to it and plopped down. He looked at the cuts in his sleeve and the blood staining it. “I think they’re mostly closed already, but that second trip down the garbage chute wasn’t any more fun than the first. Just glad I broke your fall.”

William had reluctantly parted with Grell’s scythe after Moira managed to sneak them into his office, undetected, and helped Ron explain all that had happened to Grell. The supervisor didn’t seem completely convinced of their story, but it was obvious that he, himself, was troubled enough with his own doubts to give them the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately, Ronald and Moira had to end their visit with William with a hasty exit when security detected them. As it turned out, Ronald had been quite lucky not to have landed right on top of the chainsaw, he’d procured, and slice himself in half when they fled through the Dispatch garbage chute.

He brushed his fingers through his hair self-consciously. “Did I get all of that banana peel out?”

"Ronnie, my dear, you did not need to catch me. I would have been just fine. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect them to get the drop on us so quickly," she giggled as she knelt down on the floor between his spread legs. She sat the box of medical items on the bed next to him and touched his thighs. "Lets get you out of that shirt, so I can have a better look at you. I can’t have you getting any infections. Can you tell me if you were cut by a scythe or was it the chute and garbage that got you?"

He unbuttoned his vest and shrugged out of it and his blazer with a wince, before loosening his tie and working on the buttons of his shirt. “One of ‘em still stings, so I might have gotten nicked by a scythe. Pretty sure the rest came from th’ chute…and whatever pokey things I landed in. I think a broken bottle got me right in the ass.”

In fact, he was pretty damned sure of it—hence the staggering he’d been doing since they climbed out of the bin and ‘ported out of there.

"Then I will have to tend to that as well. Are you comfortable sitting like this for a few minutes, before we have a look at your back end?" she asked, looking up at him with a smile upon her red-painted lips.  
  
She began to grab some antiseptic wipes to clean his wounds, when she saw Ronald nod in response to her question. Carefully, she ripped one open and pressed it gently to one of the larger scratches near his shoulder. She heard the blond’s hiss as he took in a sharp breath. She was not surprised that it stung. She was pretty sure it was inflicted by a scythe. It was healing at a much slower rate than most of the others.  
  
“You know, I was quite surprised with your boss…or perhaps he is now your former boss. Either way, he was quiet easily convinced that we desperately needed Grell’s scythe and so willing to hand it over. Of course, my promising to cut off his most valuable piece of anatomy may have helped in the process. You know, sped things along.” She chuckled, trying to distract the blond from her ministrations to his wounds; and then the memory of the Dispatch Manager’s face, it had her laughing a bit harder. “Oh, dear! Do you think I was too direct?”

Ron huffed a laugh. “With him? Not a bit. I used to look up to the guy as one of my seniors, but knowing he just left Grell t’ rot in that hellhole, without even really investigating it? It’s kind of hard to admire him. Him and Grell always clashed, but they have a history together and—ouch—and I would have thought that meant at least enough to him for him to dig a little. Guess it’s all about protocol with Spears, now.”

He watched what she was doing and he smirked, “You’ve got a real gentle touch, beautiful. Thanks. This could have hurt a lot worse than it does.”

"Lets see what you think of my skilled hand when I stitch you up," she replied, "It appears this one was the edge of a scythe and it is refusing to heal. So to keep you from getting infected, I am going to have to sew you back together. You have a smaller nick on your wrist from a scythe, but it is just taking its sweet time to close. All the others look good. I am sure you will survive."

"I’ve been beat up worse than this," said Ronald with a shrug. "Never needed stitches before, though. I’ll manage, with a pretty thing like you to look at." He winked at her, unable to help his flirting habits—especially after the night they’d shared together before departing Lawrence’s home.

"You are incorrigible," she smiled and stood up. "I want to take a look at your rear before I start on the stitches. Can’t have your wounds healing over glass if it was a bottle that you did indeed land on. It is imperative to remove any shards that may have been embedded."

"Gotcha." Ronald scooted back with a grimace, and then he rolled over onto his stomach. "Now if ya get the urge to spank me, I’m totally okay with that. Just make sure ya get the glass out first."

He grinned over his shoulder at her before grabbing one of the pillows with his uninjured arm and propping his chin on it. He almost joked that he’d be fine with her putting on a nurse outfit too while she tended him, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He was trying to fight his anxiety with humor and flirtation, and sometimes he didn’t know when to quit.

"Is that so, Mister Knox?" Moira quirked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. Her foot tapped against the hard wood floor. "I am not in the habit of abusing my patients and we have one other little hiccup. I cannot examine you properly if you are still wearing your trousers."

"Ah, right."

He’d been kind of hoping she’d pull them down for him, because he was more sore than he’d let on. He rolled onto his uninjured side and he poked the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he worked his belt buckle open and unzipped his pants. He had to stop for a second and wait for a cramp in his hurt arm to ease up, before shoving said pants down to his knees. He followed up with his boxers, lacking modesty as always. Of course, he might have hesitated if they hadn’t already had sex, but once he’d been with a person he never saw the point in being shy about his body around them.

"Okay," he grunted, rolling back onto his stomach and presenting his bare bottom to her. "Patient Knox is ready for doctor Moira to examine his bum."

"Darling, would that not have been less painful and much easier, if you had only stood up and removed them?" Moira asked as she sat down on the bed next to the blond. "Not to say that it was not entertaining to watch you struggle and all, but you really could have saved yourself from a lot of discomfort."

"Logic isn’t my strongpoint when I’m not feelin’ so hot," he excused with a smirk. He lay his head on the pillow and turned it to the side, sighing, "Head’s still swirling with thoughts…I guess how to take my pants off is just low on the priority list. Sorry."

He shut his eyes, wanting to rest just a little bit. They’d gotten up so early and neither of them got much sleep the night before…but nap time could wait for later.

Moira combed her fingers through his blond locks and cooed, “There, there. I am afraid this all rather my fault. I am the one who insisted we had to retrieve Grell’s scythe. So, you rest as best as you can and I shall be as quick as possible and then get your stitches done as well.”  
  
She turned her attention to his derriere and gently touched the around the area that was red and as she suspected there were several shards of glass embedded in his flesh.  
  
“My dear, this may hurt a bit,” she warned, picking up the tweezers from the first aid kit. “You have about ten pieces of glass in your ass.”

The rhyme made her giggle and her cheeks turn red.

Ronald snorted, “You’re a poet and ya don’t know it…owch!”

He gritted his teeth and grimaced as she began to retrieve the first piece. Somehow, he managed to hold still for her and not clench his butt cheeks, but it wasn’t quite the kinky fun he’d pictured.

"I think I’d rather be spanked," he groaned. "Um…later. When it heals up."

He gathered up the pillow and propped his chin on it, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for more.

"Don’t feel bad about it, though," he encouraged, "It was my choice to come along and you had a good reason for wantin’ to get Senpai’s scythe back. This whole plan is a risk, so I’m pretty sure a few pieces of glass in my rear is…ugh…nothin’ compared to…ahh-gaah…what we could be in for."

"I am sorry, Ronald, did that hurt to much?’ she asked as she rubbed the side of his cheek soothingly. "I didn’t dream you would end up like this. Scythe cuts yes, but glass and in your back end. How shall I make this up to you?"

He turned his head to toss a wink over his shoulder at her. “We can talk about that once we’ve saved Grell…and after I’ve treated you to a real date. Hey, do ya like dancing? I know a few classic dances if you aren’t into the new stuff. I can take ya somewhere real nice and see if I can sweep ya off your feet.”

She smiled in kind at him. “Yes, yes I do. I like many forms of dancing. Some are even considered forbidden. Well, at least in the mortal realms they were.”  
  
Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she giggled once more, reminiscing about dancing naked under a full moon. It was with some of her friends back when they were young reapers and it was summer. They would portal down to the country of Ireland and walk along the shore; swim in the sea, bathing in the starlight and often build a fire to dry—then end up dancing till the wee hours of the morning. The world was less populated and only once were they discovered by mortals. The faces of the fishermen who came upon them, was priceless.

"Forbidden dances, eh?" Ronald’s imagination caught fire. "Maybe you could teach some of ‘em to me. You’ve already seen I’ve got no modesty."

He wiggled his butt to emphasize that, grinning at her. “Only embarrassing thing about this situation to me is that I actually hurt my ass worse than my arm, from landing on a bottle of all things.”

"I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t wiggle," she scolded, smacking him on the cheek untouched by the glass. "And if you are a good patient and we survive all of this." She waved her hand above and around, a piece of gauze in her hand. "I’ll start by teaching you the dance we did on the shore that night."

"Oh, I’m definitely into that," Ronald enthused. Oh, Styx, he was getting turned on…that really wasn’t cool. "Um…Moira…honey? Could ya hurry it up? That little smack got ‘Little Ronnie’ Kind of frisky. Yeah, I know I’m sick. You can totally punish me later, beautiful."

Moira rolled her eyes and nodded. “Then shut up so I can finish. You keep distracting me.”

Ronald grinned…and then he promptly winced, “Yess’um.”

 

* * *

 

"Ronald, what do you think…barging in the front doors or attempt to port in? We could look for a back door. Knowing Hypnos, he won’t have it overly guarded. The ass has always had a big ego and believes he is invincible. And I suppose in some ways he is." Moira spoke as she held her binoculars to her eyes.  
  
They were up on a hill over looking the town of Bayreuth Germany and its local sanitarium—where Grell was being held against his will. Moira and Ronald lay on their stomachs, studying the fortress they were determined to conquer. The sun had just began to peek over the horizon, banishing the shadows from the city that was just beginning to wake below them.

Ronald narrowed his eyes at the sight. “Yeah, back door’s probably the best bet. I mean, it doesn’t look like he’s got it too tightly guarded, but the locals would probably start asking questions if they had a bloody army surrounding it. I’ll bet we’ll find things a little tighter inside.”

He grimaced at the thought and he looked at his lovely companion. “But I don’t care how many people I’ve gotta mow down to get Senpai out of that place. Let’s circle around back and see if we can find a better way in. Maybe if we can get a peek inside we can get an idea of where to teleport to…like one of the empty rooms or something where we won’t get spotted right away.”

"Agreed," Moira replied standing up and brushing the grass from her black trousers. "We are going to have to walk. If we port, we could alert Hypnos. Yes, ancients can sense when portals open not far from them. If he is currently in there, he would know we were just outside. So, walking we must do."

"Got it."

Ronald got to his feet with a grunt. Checking to make sure he was properly cloaked from at least mortal sight, he led the way, careful not to move too close to the structure as they circled around behind it. Senses on alert, he glanced around as they got close to the back of the building and he ran over to the wall, peeking around the corner of it to be sure there were no guards stationed out back. When he confirmed that the coast was clear, he motioned his female companion to join him.

"Okay, we’ll have to get over that fence," he whispered to her, "Looks like an exercise pen or something."

His eyes roved over her form-fitting black outfit and he smirked, “Good thing you put on that cat suit for this. I’d hate to risk ruining one of your pretty dresses on that barbed wire, even if I think we can both clear it in one jump.”

Obviously the exercise courtyard wasn’t designed to hold reaper patients, but this was a human facility on the surface, after all. It was highly doubtful that Grell and any other reapers they might have in that place ever got out for some sunshine and fresh air.

Moira looked down at her ensemble, puzzled. “Cat suit?”  
  
She blinked in confusion at the blond. Her black trousers and black top had never been described in such a way before. It was true that the pants hugged her curves, but they were just like most ladies’ trousers. There was a tiny pleat on the front above each thigh and her shirt was a tinged low cut, but still was conservative, well at least by her standards. The sleeves reaching mid way down her arms and the scoop of the neck, exposing just the tops of her creamy, white breasts. The black fabric was tucked in beneath her waist band and a black belt encircled her small waist, through the loops on her trousers. It made no sense to her. Was he trying to say she looked like a cat?  
  
“Ronnie dear, my clothes look nothing like a ‘cat’s suit’; and I thought skirts would most definitely be impractical. Black makes more sense if one wants to be inconspicuous. Don’t you think? But how you come up with ‘cat suit’ baffles me. Do I look like a cat to you?”

Ronald pinched his lips to keep from laughing, and he shook his head. “Nah, that’s not it. It’s just a figure of speech for…um…”

Realizing he stood to offend her by suggesting she was dressed too provocatively if he didn’t word it right, he shrugged. “It just means you’re dressed sleek. Kind of like a cat, you know? I mean, it’s a smart choice. No loose material that could catch on anything.”

He coughed and looked away from her cleavage. Some of the dresses she wore showed off more of it than that, but the black material contrasted with her pale skin and his eyes kept getting drawn to that spot. Not to mention the way the pants molded to her—

"—You’d better take up the rear," he decided aloud, shaking himself out of it. Now wasn’t the time to be drooling over her curves. Grell was depending on them and he didn’t need to be staring at Moira’s ass while they were trying to conduct a rescue.

"Why? Because I am a lady?" Moira inquired arguably as she stood with her hands on her hips. "Is there some reason I should not lead? After all Ronald, that is my grandchild in there and I am an ancient. I have greater abilities than you. It makes more sense that I should be leading you in. It is safer, for both of us. I can sense things you cannot."  
  
Moira was not sure if she should be so terribly upset by the notion of Ronald suggesting her taking up the rear or if he was just trying to be chivalrous and charming, and protective; but in her mind it made more sense for her to lead. After all they were dealing with an ancient like herself or possibly two, since neither knew for sure if Thanatos was near.  
  
Slowly her right brow rose and her foot began to tap as well.

He sighed, thought about it a sec, then shrugged. “Honestly? Because if I take up the rear I’m afraid I’ll spend too much time looking at your rear instead of paying attention. It’s got nothing to do with you being a lady. Well, it does…kinda…but not for the reasons ya think. I was just…ahem…trying to be a gentleman and avoid getting distracted.”

His answer brought her to a full stop, and her hands slowly moved from her hips to dangling, loosely by her sides. As recognition sunk deeper in, so too did her eyes enlarge and then she blushed.  
  
“I…I never thought… I’m sorry Ronald. Just…well a lot of men try and treat me like a valuable piece of hot ass and want to let their egos run free.” She lowered her head and shook it. “I should not have assumed you would do the same. Until now you have given me no reason to believe you are that way. You have been…a great help and a good friend, and much more.”

He smiled and waved it off, “It’s okay. You’re stressed and so am I. It’s not your fault if a guy can’t control his eyes, right? I just figured since this is so important I’d better do everything I can to stay focused.”

He heard the click of a door from the building, and he quickly tugged her with him to hide behind the wall. He peeked around it again warily to see a human orderly come out into the fenced area, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Just a mortal,” he whispered to her. “I guess it doesn’t really matter who takes the lead. If all I can think of is your butt at a time like this, then I don’t need to be a Dispatch agent in the first place.”

He smirked and he waited for the human to go back inside. “Ready, gorgeous?”

She cocked a grin at him. “I can see why you have your reputation.”  
  
Carefully she stepped up alongside him and peeked around the corner and confirmed he was correct. The man that had disappeared back into the building was indeed a mortal and the coast was definitely clear.  
  
“Stare at my ass all you like, but I am leading us in. I will know the instant Hypnos or Thanatos show their essences. So please darling, stay close to me and keep your ears peeled for any odd sounds or the voices of those we know are inside.”

"Will do," he assured. "I mean, I’ll stay close and stay alert. Might stare at your ass a little too…can’t be helped."

Ronald walked over to the fence, gauged the distance he needed to clear and he took a powerful leap. He landed on the other side and waited for Moira, ready to catch her even though he knew she needed no help. That was just what gentlemen did for ladies, like opening doors for them, pulling their chair back and offering a hand out of a carriage.

"Did I not just say I was going to lead, Ronald?" she huffed as she summoned her scythe. "We will need to get away from the building before we can port out. And we can’t go racing out the front…so we will need to exit this way and I am sure that Grell will be to weak to leap or do anything fancy."  
  
Saying nothing more, she began to cut the bars at the top of the fence.  
  
Her scythe was as long as she was tall. The hilt of the scythe was the foot of a dragon with four claws. Slender and silver, it was crowned with a skull. Dragon wings sprouted from the sides of the skeleton’s head and another set formed above the first pair arching the opposite direction, creating pinchers.

Ronald grimaced at his lack of forethought and scratched his head. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

He almost started to help her finish, but he thought better of it when he considered the noise his scythe would make when he started the motor. “Well, I’m off to a really great start,” he sighed, waiting for her to finish so that she could take up the lead as planned.

"We can kick these out easily when we make our great escape. The goal is for them not to realize they are cut. And don’t fret, love, you are just young. I shall teach you a great many things about what you are capable of doing and achieving." She winked at him, cutting the last bar. "There, I shall be right over."  
  
Moira backed up and looked at the side of the building where it met the top of the high fence. She studied the distance and where would be the best spot to strike. She smiled at the blond and ran as fast as she could, it had been some time since she had to leap over a tall object and as she hit the side of the building her foot caught the top of the fence.  
  
 _~Oh Shit!~_

"Crap…I gotcha!" Ronald jumped beneath her and caught her in his arms. He’d envisioned himself catching her bride style and gracefully setting her on her feet. It didn’t work out that way though. Due to the angle of her fall, he ended up catching her around the waist and losing his balance. There was an interesting moment of distraction when her breasts crushed against his chest as he toppled backwards with her and broke her fall. A little winded but hardly minding, Ronald winked up at her from his prone position on the ground.

"See? Knoxie’s got your back."

Breathing heavily, Moira stared back down into Ronald’s eyes. She was surprised she had miscalculated, and here she now lay in her lover’s arms.  
  
“That wasn’t suppose to happen. I wouldn’t have been terribly hurt had I it the ground, but thank you Ronnie, for catching me,” she whispered.

"Don’t mention it," he said, his voice softening a little as well. Deciding he was enjoying her lying on top of him too much, he sat up with a grunt, helping her to turn so that she could do the same. He climbed to his feet and brushed himself off, a little wary of hurting her pride by offering to help her further.

"Guess we’d better get moving before we get spotted by any reapers in this place," he prompted, a little embarrassed over how easily this woman distracted him.

Moira looked up at him and held her hands out to him. “Help me up, would you?”

He blinked at her, and his expression immediately softened. He knew how alluring and confident and stubborn she could be by now, but he wasn’t expecting this cute side of her. That she would ask for his help despite her pride made him feel kind of special, and he smiled and offered his hands to her.

"Anytime."

He helped her up and he even brushed her off a bit, planting a quick smooch on her cheek. “Lead the way, Moira. I’ll be right behind ya.”

Rolling her eyes, Moira bent down and picked her scythe up and motioned for him to follow. Slowly they crept, hugging the wall of the building until they reached the door…the one that the orderly had used to exit and reenter the asylum. A small square window with bars was cut into the heavy, wooden paneled door. Moira’s blinking green eyes peered in through the scuffed glass.  
  
“I see no-one lurking just inside. I think it is safe to enter, and I sense no other reapers, presently.” She looked over at the blond. “Close your eyes, Ronald. Concentrate and focus your energy on the room just on the other side of this door. I want you start doing that as we pass through every room and or hallway.”

He nodded and did as she asked, trusting in her wisdom and experience. “Ya know,” he whispered conversationally, “you don’t have t’ roll your eyes like that every time I say something cheesy. It’s not good for them. I say a lot of cheesy things lately. Your eyes are gonna fall out of your head if you keep that up.”

Moira glared at him briefly before softening her gaze. _~Stop being cheesy and I just might stop rolling my eyes. And now is not the time to argue, little mouse.~_

She held her tongue, though she wish to give him a piece of her mind. They didn’t have to to stand there and debate the issue. Lives were at stake and they would be caught if they did not quit bickering.  
  
“Come on,” she sighed as she turned the knob on the door and pushed it open. The glare from the sunlight behind them making it hard to make out the room as they stepped into the mental hospital.

Ronald shielded his eyes with one hand as he followed her in, and he kept his scythe ready. He took a slow, deep breath and he reached out with his senses for that hint of…senpai that had somehow allowed him to locate Grell on that cargo ship before. Whether it was because of his deep bond with his mentor, or because he held some latent talent he hadn’t yet tapped, he was able to get a vague, Grell-ish feeling off to the left.

"There," he whispered, closing his eyes and pointing. He turned on his heels like a compass, and his arm drifted lower. "Underground. He’s not on any top level."

He shivered, and he didn’t quite understand why. He opened his eyes and he looked at Moira with a boyish expression of worry on his face. “They…hurt him. I…dunno how but…fuck…”

He sucked in a few deep breaths, and he nudged Moira in the direction he was sensing his mentor from. “Sorry gorgeous, but I’m not much good as anything but a bloodhound right now. Can ya keep an eye out for danger? I can bring us to him. I found him on the ship and I can find him here. Just need you t’ cover me, okay?”

"Alright, you concentrate on Grell’s aura. I will keep my senses focused on any other reaper lurking around this demented excuse for a mental institute." Moira replied as she looked over her shoulder one last time before they proceeded down the corridor—that hopefully led to a way downstairs.  
  
“It’s rather drafty in here,” she mentioned, watching her breath form in front of her face as she spoke, “Damned cold. I hope Grell has been allowed some warmth—or perhaps it is just this floor.”

Ronald got a chill up his spine and he had to stop for a moment.

_~No, please…not in there!~_

He snarled unconsciously, and he pointed in the direction that the feeling came from. It was worse than a grave…worse than anything he’d felt. His connection to his mentor was also his personal hell.

"This way," he rasped, shoving a fisted glove in the general direction of the stairs.

"Ronald, let me lead down the stairs. I don’t like the fact that we will have to descend a floor. Hypnos could easily be hiding down there and he could possibly get the drop on us," Moira whispered as she stepped around the blond, "Use all your senses. I believe we are about to enter the lion’s den."

Ronald didn’t care what sort of den they entered right now, so long as something actually happened. He was stressed, he was angry, and he was feeling annoyingly protective of this lady who happened to be his mentor’s grandmother.

He saw and sensed a reaper up ahead of them before they made it to the first lower floor of the fire escape. There was no time to ask for permission; he jumped over the railing with his scythe leading the way and he cut into the surprised reaper’s face, spilling his records. He looked up at Moira with a serious expression, for once able to cut the jokes.

"Better move it, then. Yer kind of slow."

"Damn it, boy! Don’t you listen?! Stay behind me or you are going to get us both killed!" She ordered as she took the last few steps and walked past him, dropping to one knee to collect the reaper’s records. "Don’t argue. You are letting your emotions lead you and we can’t afford that right now. You have to focus."

"Seems to me you’re the one having trouble focusing right now," observed Ronald. He nudged his chin in the direction that the reaper had come from. "He saw us. I acted. That’s how Dispatch agents roll. You’re out of the loop. You’ve got wisdom, but you’re not up to date on what’s going on and if you really want to save Grell, put your pride away and let me help you."  
  
Ronald’s expression softened as he reached out to comb a wayward, raven spiral away from Moira’s ear. “I’m your partner now. You’ve gotta trust me on some things. Watch my back, Okay? I’ll watch yours too…but I can feel my Senpai. Help me find him, okay?”

"Listen to me youngling. I may not work the field like I use to, but I am not ignorant. I still am active in Dispatch. And you newer generations have nothing on us ancients. So unless you want to be reaped, you had better start listening to me. Now, work with me Ronald. This is not about pride, this is about experience and ancient knowledge. We can’t help Grell if you are not using your head. Get your head out of your own ass and listen to me!"  
  
She breathed quietly against his cheek and searched his eyes. “You speak of trust and yet you are the one displaying none in me. I know what I am doing, Ronald. If I am truly your partner…you will stop thinking of my anatomy and work with me. I do not need a champion, Grell does. Do I make myself clear?”

Ronald stared at her and at once, he became angry. He’d been through more hell this month than he’d ever been through in his life, and it was all because of these self-proclaimed ‘ancients’. He was the only one in Dispatch willing to stick his neck out for Grell, and now he was a fugitive. Her words stung him and he found himself losing his charitable attitude. He narrowed his eyes at her, and for once, his attraction to her didn’t temper his response.

"Yeah, you’re crystal clear. I’m just a stupid boy to you and every bloody thing I do is wrong by you, even when it’s right. Know what? You might all be older than dirt, but you ancient’s aren’t perfect yourselves. ‘Taker’s laying in a coma, totally helpless, and you’ve done nothing but argue with me since we got here. Two of your kin kidnapped an officer of Dispatch and there’s no telling what they’ve been doing to him since then, so don’t play the ‘superior’ card with me, honey."

He pushed away from her and compressed his lips, having had just about enough of her superior attitude. “You don’t believe I can sense where my mentor is? Fine. You think all I can think about is your ‘anatomy’? Well, I guess I asked for that with my teasing. I was trying to lighten things up a little, but it wasn’t appropriate. I get that. But if it weren’t for you and your kin’s ‘perfect’ asses, I wouldn’t be in this fix and neither would Grell! You sat there on your pert little ass while that demon slit ‘Taker’s throat and Wundt’s thugs took Senpai! As far as I’m concerned, you can stuff it, and when this is over I’m gonna buy you a nice stiff drink to kill that bug that’s up your ass.”

He turned away from her angrily and he tried to reclaim that sense of ‘Grell’ he’d had before. At the moment, he kind of hated all of them—even her—and he felt like crying. “Fucking ancients,” he snarled vehemently, fed up with all of them. All he wanted to do now was mow something down.

The desire to slap him across the face was intense within her. Hurt, however, overpowered her anger. His words stung like a bee. He wasn’t the only reaper to have their entire life flipped upside-down and tossed about like boat at sea, during a storm. She glared at his back silently, until tears threatened to over come her. Refusing to cry in front of him, Moira turned from him and started for the second and final flight of stairs. But she paused, her eyes focused on the next step down.  
  
“I thought you were different,” she whispered and then as fast as she could, she ran down the steps and onto the basement floor.  
  
Darkness met her, but it was not dense and her eyes adjusted quickly. She could see sconces flickering down the long corridor before her. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing her energy on Grell. Ronald had been to far up his own ass to realize that she too could feel Grell. They were blood-linked and with that, she could feel her grandchild more deeply than he possibly could. The feeling was much stronger here, in the darkness. But there was something else, something that made her blood run cold. Sulfur. The corridor was permeating with the fragrance and she knew just which demon it was coming from.

"Moira, wait!" Ronald started after her, immediately regretting his harsh words. He stopped and he dragged his fingers though his hair, cursing.  
  
“Way to go, Knox. First lady you start falling for and you run her off. Smooth…real smooth.”  
  
He sighed and he followed where she’d gone. They couldn’t afford to get separated, no matter how angry they were with each other.

"Moira?" He called softly in the darkness. "Hey listen; I didn’t mean all that stuff, okay? I’m just frustrated and stressed."

 

* * *

 

"Grell, sweetie where are you? I can feel you child. Call out to me, something." Moira softly spoke to herself as she turned the corner into another corridor.

She felt like a mouse in a maze, but where was her cheese stashed? She could feel her grandchild was near, but with each twist and turn of the hospital’s basement, Moira found herself lost and without any clue as to which room Grell was locked away in.  
  
She paused and looked back the way she had come. She thought she felt a presence behind her, yet as she turned to look, the hallway was empty. Greatly daring, she called out in a whisper. “Ronald? Are you there?”

"Moira?" Whispered Ronald again. Gosh, it was dim down here. Even with his reaper night vision he was having trouble seeing his way around. His anxiety grew and the sound of his own breathing was too loud to his own ears.  
  
“Where th’ heck are ya, honey?” She couldn’t have gotten that far ahead of him, could she? “Okay…starting to get worried, here. I know you’re mad at me but please answer me!”  
  
He gripped the handle of his scythe nervously. He should have heard her call out, if she was in trouble. As he started forward again, a pale figure with blue-tinted glasses popped up before him, seeming to come out of nowhere.  
  
“Hello, green one.”  
  
Ronald’s eyes widened with alarm as he recognized the reaper’s powerful aura, if not the face and voice. It was the same man that had Grell prisoner on the cargo ship. With a yelp of alarm, he started to attack.  
  
He never got the chance to land a single blow. Something pricked him right in the ass—just above the spot where he’d landed on the glass previously—and the world around him rapidly lost focus. He stumbled and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Another male voice with a German accent spoke as his would-be opponent caught him in his arms.  
  
“How kind of you to offer yourself up as further incentive, little one.”

 

* * *

 

Moira turned down another corridor, and more light filled the hall. She could make things out more clearly. The sound of someone tossing their cookies met her ears, and so she closed her eyes. An image of Grell formed as clear as day in her mind. She was lurched over a commode in a cell or observation room.  
  
“Grell!” She breathed out anxiously and took off running down the corridor, coming to a sudden halt at the end where to her left was a barred door. Her eyes enlarged as she gazed upon the redhead hugging the commode inside. Her hair disheveled and falling out of a sloppy ponytail. Her hospital gown covered in dirt and torn on the side.  
  
“Grell, darling.” She softly spoke as she wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the cold iron bars.  
  
Frozen in place, Grell was afraid to turn around. The voice was familiar and it called his name, but it couldn’t be. They were all dead. No one was coming for him. He covered his ears and shook his head, but as the voice repeated his name, he turned and looked. Like a shadow, she stood there. She was dressed in black from her head to her toes. Fear was etched across her face as she called out to him again, and then with her scythe, she began to cut the bars of his door. Was he dreaming? No, he had to be hallucinating?  
  
“Moira?” he uttered her name questionably, beneath his breath.  
  
“No! Behind you!” he screamed as a real shadow appeared behind her.

Hypnos grinned as his fellow ancient whirled around, and he blocked her instinctive attack with his own scythe. There was a screech of metal on metal as the two powerful weapons clashed and sent sparks.

"Herzlich Willkommen, liebe Schwester," he greeted, before head-butting her in the face and bloodying her nose. He followed up with a low sweep of his scythe, keeping the tomahawk blade facing outward so as to use the curved, talon-like spike on the other end to hook her ankles and trip her. Hypnos wanted her alive…for now.

As she went down, he plunged the syringe he held in his other hand into her thigh, pushing the plunger down immediately.

"Hypnos?" She whispered as his face went blurry. The drugs were kicking in quickly. "What did you do to me?"  
  
“Wundt, no!” Grell screamed running to the bars and taking hold of them. One began to bend from being cut and Grell tugged on it with all his might, desperate to get to his kin.

"Quiet, little Erdbeere," admonished Grell’s captor, standing over his vanquished prey. "She will merely sleep, for now. When she wakes up, she may wish she’d remained unconscious. We have your little blond apprentice, too. Perhaps now, we can finally get the answers we’ve been seeking from you and if not…well, I’m sure Atropos may have some answers of her own to provide us."

He smiled in satisfaction and he brought his Shinigami phone to his ear to call someone. “I require Grell to be restrained and brought to examination room B-18. We have work to do. Keep monitoring security, just in case there are more mice trying to hide in our maze.”

Grell slid to the floor while Wundt spoke on the phone and reached through the bars, taking Moira’s hand in his own. “Don’t hurt her. Please, Wundt!”

"That depends on how much you both cooperate," answered the ancient smugly. Two of his reaper orderlies came, and he squatted down to gather Moira into his arms while they went into the crimson reaper’s cell to restrain him and force a ball-gag into his mouth. They ignored his screams and pleas as they subdued him, and they followed their leader further down the twisting corridors to the room where Ronald was already being held and interrogated.

 

* * *

 

Ronald was rudely awoken by a splash of cold water to the face, after being injected with a medication to counter-act the sedatives. Heart pounding with adrenaline, he gasped and lifted his head—or tried to, at any rate. He was strapped down to a table that had been cranked to an angle, so that he was in an upright position with his throat, wrists, arms, thighs and ankles tightly clamped down. His glasses had been removed and he blinked water out of his eyes in confusion.

"Ugh…how much d’ I drink las’ night?" he slurred. He felt sick to his stomach and his head pounded like he had a hangover.

Amused, Thanatos circled the restrained reaper. His deep timbre of voice filled the empty room. He stopped just behind Ronald and taunted, “Shall I change your sex as I did Grell’s? I know who you are Ronald Knox, and I know of your reputation. It speaks volumes throughout the realm and I must say it is an amusing idea to turn you into that in which you chase.”  
  
He ran his index finger, as it turned to bone, across the blond’s shoulder. “It is one of my favorite tricks.”

Realizing who was speaking to him, Ronald squinted at his captor and he tried not to let his words panic him. Shit…he’d been caught. What about Moira? What about Grell? Did they make it out safe? He put on a brave face and he tried to shrug…but he was so hampered by restraints that the very attempt made cramps shoot through his shoulders.

"I can think of worse things than having a pair of boobs of my very own to play with. Knock y’self out, old fart. All that’ll do is turn me into a lesbian, and I’ll still be more man than you ever will."

Thanatos laughed heartily. “And would you like me to add records to your brain as well? Slowly drive you insane. Though I am sure my brother will have some sort of use for you. He likes to experiment on reapers these days. Mortals have grown boring to him. You are young and vital. I am sure you can last a few hundred years.”

Ronald felt a tremor go through him, but he’d always had more guts than common sense. His slang got more pronounced as he forced bravado into his voice. “Do whatever th’ hell ya want, Thingy-jig. Whatever ya do to me won’t change the fact that you and your buddy Hippo are total losers that can’t get a girl ‘less ya kidnap her or turn a guy into one.”

"I rarely take part in coupling. I much prefer to watch. However, I could just as easily take Moira if you like." Thanatos’ smile widened. "Would you like to watch while I have my way with her unconscious body? Imagine her face, waking to find me on top of her and inside her."

That got a more emotional reaction from Ronnie. He strained against his bonds, unable to help it. “You stay away from her!”

He then went pale as the woman in question was carried in by Dr. Wundt, appearing unconscious in his arms. A kicking and struggling Grell was dragged in behind them by two orderlies, bound up like a mummy in a straight jacket, with a ball gag in his mouth. Ronald was hardly even aware that Thanatos had put his glasses back on his face for him, so that he could see the two females clearly as they were brought in.

"M-Moira?" he said, at once sounding like a lost youth. His gaze flicked between her oblivious form and his Senpai’s tearful face. He glared at Wundt, forgetting all about Thanatos for the moment. "What th’ hell did you do to her?"

The sound of Thanatos’ boots echoed off the walls as he approached his twin and the drugged fate in his arms. His smile grew dark as he looked down at her. Carefully, he lifted her from Wundt’s arms.  
  
“There now,” he cooed as he turned back to the blond, “You see?”  
  
Slowly, he carried her to another table. Still in view of the blond, he laid her delicately down. He ran his fingers over her cheek. “I could taker her so easily like this and force you two watch. So youngling, I strongly suggest you cooperate and not fight us. Though we would much prefer you to fight us. Makes the game so much more entertaining.”

Ronald stared at his unconscious lover, unable to tear his eyes off of her. There were a lot of things he could endure, but watching the woman he’d fallen so hard and fast for get violated in front of him wasn’t one of them. He slumped as much as his restraints would allow, running out of bluster.

"Do whatever ya want to me," he said in a defeated voice, "just don’t hurt her or my Senpai."

Hypnos smiled in smug satisfaction at Thanatos. “You see? I thought he could be reasoned with. The beauty of all this is in how the boy can be used to crush the last of my darling Grell’s resistance, while the boy in turn can be tamed through simple exploitation of this weakness known as ‘love’.”

He looked at Moira thoughtfully. “I am not sure if Atropos can be likewise brought to heel and broken by the sight of the boy’s suffering, but we shall see. Only one remains to challenge us now, and Moros has no spine to even try. If these three cannot provide the answers, then he most likely can…and he has no allies left to protect him.”

Ronald almost perked up with hope, but he retained enough sense not to react to Hippo’s words.

_~They think Undy’s kicked the bucket. I’d best keep my mouth shut and play along. But these guys can screw around with cinematic records and if they scythe me, they might see the truth. We might have a chance if he wakes up and comes after us, but I’ve got to keep ‘em thinking he’s out of the way. Think he’s dead, Ronnie…think he’s dead. Picture it in your mind. Khronos is dead. You saw him die. Think of him lying there like a slab of cold meat, pale as a ghost and still as a statue. That’s all ya have to do. Undertaker’s dead, Undertaker’s dead…UNDERTAKER’S DEAD!~_

He had no idea if it was possible to trick his own cinematic records into editing events he’d witnessed to show something that didn’t really happen, but he’d come to realize he was pretty damned good at lying to himself. He kept telling himself it was just infatuation he felt for Moira, but seeing her helpless like that with the threat of rape hanging over her head, he realized how untrue that was. He loved her, just like Hippo said. If he could make himself believe he didn’t before now, then maybe he could make himself believe the crazy mortician was kaput, too.

Thanatos stood up right and looked over to his brother. “I am sure I can be persuasive enough. And what of her? Do you really think she will cough up what you want to know? Why not leave her in his cage? Make her mad with worry? Let her imagination run wild, wondering what was happening to these two? Or brother, are you going to show the rooster what fun you have with his mentor?”

"Touch either of them and you won’t get a damned thing from me," Ronald warned, snapping out of his desperate self-trance at the insinuation.

Hypnos clucked his tongue, “You aren’t in any position to make demands, boy.”

He looked at Grell thoughtfully, and he nodded at the two orderlies that had brought him in. “Remove her gag and straight jacket. I think her apprentice needs to be shown an example of the proper way to respond to my wishes.”

Ronald stared in bewilderment as the two thugs did as he commanded, leaving Grell free to move…but where could he possibly go?

"S-senpai, it’s gonna be okay," he said. "Don’t worry about me, alright? I don’t care what they do to me, I can handle it. He doesn’t own you!"

"Not true, little mouse," corrected Wundt. "Erdbeere, take off those rags and give our young friend a reminder of how easily we can mold both flesh and spirit to suit our needs."

He nodded at one of his orderlies, then at Ronald. The bigger one walked over to Ron and painfully grasped his jaw, keeping him from turning his head to look away.

"Now look upon your mentor, Mr. Knox. She is mine…completely. So too will you be, in the end. Grell, stand before him and disrobe."

"Don’t listen to the creep," grunted Ronald, horrified at the thought of witnessing his mentor humiliated like that. The other thug approached and grabbed hold of one of his fingers, and the next thing he felt was a tearing pain as his nail was ripped from the bedding by the tool the reaper had picked up. He couldn’t help but scream.

"Do it," Wundt reiterated to Grell. "Now!"

Grell stood looking at the doctor and then shook his head. His legs turned inwards, pigeon-toeing and he held his arms across his waist. “No. No, please?” he whispered.

Wundt nodded at the orderly with the pliers, and Ronald gritted his teeth and did his best to bite back another howl as a second fingernail was pried off. Bleeding fingers shaking, he panted and blinked back tears, his jaw creaking with the force of his clenching and the vice-like grip that the other thug had on it. He’d bitten his tongue that time and blood trickled from his mouth.

"How many must he lose?" Hypnos mused, "Perhaps we could look to other parts of his anatomy."

Ronald’s eyes widened a bit at that and he trembled, but he refused to beg. He tried to speak to his mentor again, but he couldn’t get any words to come out thanks to the brutal hold on his jaw.

Tears formed in Grell’s eyes as he looked over at Ronald. He lowered his head and stepped forward, nodding. “A-alright. Please d-don’t hurt him anymore, Wundt.”  
  
Reaching behind him, Grell began to untie the hospital gown. His body shook as the knot came loose. He glanced over at the doctor, who motioned for him to continue. Grell took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Stiffening his spine, he raised his head and looked straight at Ronald. He focused on the blond’s eyes, seeking comfort and strength in them. Slowly he slid the gown from his shoulders. He let the fabric gradually lower further, exposing the tops of breasts. Tears spilled as he let go of the gown. It landed before his bare feet.

Ron might have asked why they were doing this…what was the point. That was just it, though; the whole point was a display of power…and to humiliate. He got that even as he watched his Senpai reveal the female body that the other lunatic had molded him into. His vision blurred with tears again—this time provoked by anger at their captors and his own helplessness to do anything. He didn’t look any lower than Grell’s tearful face, trying his best to convey to the redhead with his eyes that no matter what they made him do or how they altered his form, he was still Grell.

"I think that’s a satisfying lesson enough for now," stated Wundt, his lustful gaze traveling over Grell’s nude form. "I want Grell bathed and dressed in an unsoiled gown. She stinks of vomit. You may leave the boy for now. Let him think about the demonstration for a while, until we begin in full."

Ronald shut his eyes as the thugs left off him to retrieve Grell.

_~I’m sorry, Senpai. If I ever get out of this, I swear I’ll cut that guy’s balls off.~_

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

He fought his way out of the dark abyss he’d been trapped in since he lost consciousness, his mind struggling to break free of the induced stasis it had put itself and his body into. He could hear the voices of his companions, and once in a while, he thought he heard Grell calling to him, like a distant shout on the wind. Lawrence’s final plea to him was what gave him the strength of will to finally claw his way out, and his eyes snapped open with a gasp. At first, he couldn’t see much of anything, and he realized it was because he no longer had his glasses. Dazed, he struggled to sit up and piece together where he was and what had happened. He felt strange. He wasn’t the same reaper as the one that got struck down by the demon butler. There was an eerie quiet within him, like the calm before the storm.

Grell. They’d taken Grell again, and he couldn’t be sure how much time had passed since it happened. Days? Weeks? Months? He knew he’d been trapped within himself for at least a week. He got slowly to his feet and he manifested his death scythe to use as a staff to aid him.

"Lawrence," he tried to call out, but all that came out was a breathy whisper. He’d lost his voice. He reached up with a trembling hand to touch the new scar around his throat, just below the old one. The tissue didn’t seem as thick as the older scar—probably because a more modern and refined method had been used to close it. Maybe his voice would return to him with time as it did before, or maybe he would be mute forever. It didn’t matter to him, either way. All that mattered was his rose.

Come what may, he would find her and reap those that took her away from him.

 

* * *

Lawrence was reading the morning paper, trying to keep his mind off of the peril of their situation and his friend’s condition. Moira and Ronald put up a good fight. They’d done some damage to the facility, according to the news of an attempted break-in two days ago that made its way across the country. The only reason the news was significant at all here in the Shinigami realm was because the facility was run by Dr. Wundt. Otherwise, reaper society wouldn’t give a toss what happened in the mortal world. Knox’s name was mentioned as one of the culprits responsible for trying to break in—presumably to free his rogue mentor. Moira was listed as “an unknown Shinigami woman,” who was detained with Knox to be questioned and institutionalized.

Anderson rubbed his eyes and sighed. Institutionalized. That was how Shinigami dealt with rogues. Being so few in number, their kind would rather attempt to rehabilitate strays and eventually get them back in the system than execute them. To his knowledge, the last time any reaper prisoner had been formally put to death was some seventy years ago, and that was an extreme case in which he’d been deemed too dangerous to himself and others to be cured or rehabilitated.

Some things were worse than death, though. He wouldn’t put it past Wundt to have his minions violate her or Ronald as punishment for their audacity, just to break them both and “teach them their place”. The man was too far-gone to be reasoned with, and Thanatos was likely the same. Whether the violation they were sure to endure was of the mind or the body, he couldn’t guess. Likely both. Hypnos and Thanatos had turned down such a vile and revolting path, he doubted any form of torture was beneath either of them.

From his peripheral vision, he saw a tall form of black and silver pass by in the hallway, and he jumped up with alarm, tossing his newspaper down and summoning his scythe. He stopped when he recognized the form, and he nearly dropped the scythe in his stunned surprise.

"Khronos?!"

The silver reaper turned his head to look at him, peering at him from beneath the fringe of his long bangs. He mouthed his name and he shuffled into the study, using his scythe to support his uncertain steps. Right now, he truly looked like the Grim Reaper. He’d pulled the hood of his robes up to cover his head, his long, pale hair flowed out from beneath it. His albino features were cast in shadow and his colorless lips were unsmiling.

Anderson went to him, and before he knew it, he was hugging the taller man in an embrace. He’d grown a bit thinner during his coma, but the stasis had stopped his body from deteriorating further than that. Khronos returned the embrace weakly with one arm, and then he pulled back to brush his bangs aside and look Anderson in the eye.

That was when he saw the power churning within him, deep in that timeless gaze. Lawrence hadn’t looked into these eyes for centuries. He’d gotten his wish; Father Time had come back.

"Tell me," whispered Khronos, unable to put sound behind his words.

Lawrence nodded. As much as he’d like to leave immediately, not even this man could go without nourishment. “I’ll make us some tea and we can sit down to a meal and discuss it. You need to recover your strength, old friend.”

 

* * *

"Ugh…" Moira groaned as her eyes slowly began to open. A bright light was shining down on her, piercing her eyes through their lids. The air was cold around her and she shivered. The only heat was radiating from the light above her. She reached up and covered her eyes. Something cold and metallic lay pressed against her cheek. Peeking one eye open, she could make out a bracelet, but her glasses were missing and she couldn’t be sure, but she could swear her name was etched upon the metal surface.

Something felt off. She could not remember where she was or what had happened to her. The chill of the room crept up her spine and she lowered her arm. She turned her head to the side. A giant mirror was reflecting her image back. She could barely make it out, but she was on a table; the kind found in operating rooms. Startled by this discovery, she sat up abruptly and looked around her.

She was alone, though she felt like she was being watched. Carefully, she swung her legs over the side and got to her feet. Her knees felt like jello at first and she held to the table until she felt confident. She looked down at her feet. They were bare. Her shoes and her trousers were missing. She was in a white hospital gown and as she looked into the mirror, she saw that her hair had been braided. Loose strands clung to her temples. She stumbled to the mirror and touched it. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide with shock and fear.

Next to the mirror was a door. Wondering and hoping that it could possibly be unlocked, she took the knob into her hand and turned it. It clicked and she pushed it open.

"Ron-ald?!"

Her voice broke as she stumbled to the table in the other room, where Ronald lay unconscious. Dried blood was trailing from his mouth, nose and down his chin. Dried blood also covered his left hand and his shoes and socks had been removed. His glasses were off, as well. He too wore a bracelet upon his wrist. Gingerly she reached out and touched his sweat soaked hair.

"Ronnie?" she whispered as tears glistened her eyes. "Ronnie, what happened to you?"

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of that sweet, musical voice and he groaned weakly, pained by the light.

"Moira?" he rasped. He could see her beautiful face come into focus. She was hovering close enough for him to see her clearly despite his lack of spectacles. "Y-you okay? They hurt ya?"

A fresh trickle of blood dripped from his right nostril, followed by more from the left. He sniffed. “Funny…keeps bleeding. Th-they…keep cleaning me up but…then they do shit th-that starts it over again. I…I think they d-did something to my head. Feels like…something’s in here w-with me.”

He tried to lift his head but he couldn’t, due to the restraints. “B-but you’re okay?”

"Where are we, Ronnie? What happened? Are we in a hospital?" She looked up, panicked. "I can’t remember getting here."

Tears dripped from her eyes as she touched his cheek, wishing the blood that seeped from his nose, to stop. “Who did this to you?”

"Th-thingy-jigger and Hippo," he said. "I know that’s not their names, but n-now I can’t even…think of what they were. Knew it before…but I m-mocked ‘em just ‘cause I c-could. Now I c-can’t think of…their names…or even what they w-were going by. They…"

He coughed and more blood trickled from his nose. “Caught us,” he said when he caught his breath. “Suckerpunched m-me in the bum with…a needle. Dunno when they got you. I think…they’re after a book? Stupid thing t-to torture someone for. G-go to a damn library, if y-ya want a book so bad.”

Moira reached down and tore a strip from her gown and placed the make shift band-aid to Ronald’s nose.

"I’m confused Ronnie. I remember we were going to Germany, but why I can’t remember? Do you know why I am dressed like a patient? Or where we are?" Moira asked as she pinched his nose closed, trying to control the bleeding.

"S-some kind of…mental ward," he managed to stammer. "They took…Grell…killed K-Khronos. W-we caught up with ‘em and…I dunno. Guess we didn’t…do so good. N-now they’ve…got all of us ‘cept Pops."

Despite his own pain and confusion, he felt a nudge of alarm to hear that Moira didn’t remember anything. “Moira? I’ve…gotta tell y-you something.”

"In a moment. Let me get you out… Wait who is Grell?" Moira looked down at Ronald, puzzled. "And what do you mean a mental ward? Why in the Hell are we in a mental ward?"

Ronald looked at her with dismay, but he was starting to black out again. He didn’t have the strength to try and explain it to her. He needed to at least say one thing, while he still could. Even if she didn’t remember it, he had to apologize. He wasn’t so sure he was going to live much longer and even if he did, he might not have the wits left to tell her.

“‘M sorry I said…those things,” he whispered as the room started spinning. “D-didn’t…mean it. I need ya to know…that.”

Everything faded to black around him, and he passed out.

"Ronald?" Moira called as she shook his shoulders. "Ronald wake up. Don’t leave me. I’m scared. I can’t remember."

"Hello Moira," Thanatos whispered in her ear as he came up behind her, putting his hands on her hips.

She froze, terrified to turn her head and look. There was a strange familiarity in the owner’s voice, and his breath made her shudder. One of his hands dipped past the torn hem of her gown and caressed her thigh.

"Who are you?" She asked, trying to summon her scythe. But it did not materialize and the man behind her began to chuckle.

"We seized your weapon, Atropos. We cut into your flesh and viewed your records. If you remove your gown, you’ll see a lovely scythe scar underneath your left breast. We didn’t want to mar that pretty little body of yours. We found out some interesting things. You never told us you had a daughter, Atropos. That was surprising."

She closed her eyes. His breath was hot and he reeked of death. He was a reaper. His hand slipped between her legs. Her eyes flew open and she clawed at his hand, grunting as she fought to pry it from her body.

The reinforced door leading to the hallway opened, and Hypnos walked in. Seeing the struggle, he stopped and raised a brow.

"Thanatos, we have more important matters to concern us right now." He smiled at the struggling female. "Such as your daughter, Atropos. Would you like to see her? She’s waiting for you, you know."

He walked over to Ronald and he gave him a quick examination. “Hmm. I think our last session was a bit much for the boy. I’ll have him seen to so that he can recover more quickly for the next. Come, Thanatos. We have a mother and child reunion to conduct.”

While the reaper holding her was distracted with the other one’s sudden appearance, Moira swung her arm back. Her elbow landed a square blow to his gut. He instantly let her go and she ran like the wind towards the door. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to get away as fast as she could. And then it dawned on her what the other reaper had said. Her daughter. She stopped and looked around. Could it be possible her daughter was here? But that didn’t feel right. Still, she wondered if she was.

"Clodagh?!" She screamed as she spun in place, trying to figure out which way to run.

Hypnos appeared before her.

"I already told you that I would take you to her," he reminded. "Now don’t be foolish. Come with me."

She shook her head and began to back away. In the lighting, he was distorted and yet vaguely familiar.

"I’m not sure if I know you. I don’t know why I am here. I’m not crazy. You must’ve done something to me," she spat.

The other ancient just smiled at her. “No, you aren’t crazy. Your daughter, on the other hand is quite ill. You’ve suffered some memory loss, and you’ve been under treatment. You clearly remember your daughter, so why not come along and see her? It may…refresh…certain knowledge we have yet to recover, if you see her.”

"Ronnie…what have you done to him?" she shot back and then pain. She screamed dropping to her knees, clutching the sides of her head. Flashes of bright lights and images flickered in her mind. She was in a field and she was in a black dress. Pink wild flowers surrounded her as she lay among them, staring up at the clouds. Her hands were resting upon her swollen belly. A face appeared above her and she frowned.

"You!" she cried out looking up at the Doctor as the pain let up. "I know you. You’re like me."

"Very good," he approved with a nod. He grabbed her arm. "We’ve known each other for some time, Atropos. Now, enough delays. Your daughter needs you, now."

She tried to pull away, shaking her head. “If I am not crazy, not a patient, why am I wearing a hospital gown? You’re lying. My daughter’s not here.”

He tightened his grip on her and he whistled at a pair of Shinigami orderlies he’d called down before interrupting Thanatos with her. They hurried forward to help him handle her and he stepped back when he relinquished her to them.

"Now, no more arguments, Atropos. I see where me Erdbeere gets that stubborn streak from."

Moira looked between the two goons. Frightened she struggled against their hold. “Let me go!” she shouted, “Get your hands off of me.! You can’t man handle me like this! Do you know who I am?!”

"Ah, but they can and they will," explained Wundt with an amused glance at his cohort, who had joined them. "Not yet, Thanatos. There are other ways to entertain yourself. Perhaps you could watch the interactions between dear Atropos and subject Knox once he’s been cleaned up and recovered again, Ja?"

"I have better ideas." Thanatos grinned looking directly at Moira.

A cold chill ran up her spine as his stare penetrated her body and she paused in her struggles momentarily.

"No." She shook her head and looked over at Wundt. "Please don’t let him touch me?"

Wundt rubbed his hands together, continuing walking without concern for her anxiety. “That would depend on you, sweet Atropos. I must say, the green one that came with you is a surprisingly versatile and virile specimen. You yourself are incredibly fertile for a Shinigami. I find the possibilities quite interesting, actually. Perhaps an arrangement can be made that would ensure his survival, your protection against my associate’s desires and satisfy my curiosity. We can discuss that after you’ve seen your daughter, of course.”

"What?! You’re crazy! No!" She fought harder. "I won’t…he won’t. You can’t make us! You’re disgusting…"

She tried to remember the doctor’s name she knew him… He was like her. She could sense it, he was old like herself, but who was he? And then it dawned on her and she yelled, “Hypnos!”

He laughed and clapped his hands. “Very good, dear. You possess a remarkable ability to mend your own records, even after they’ve been tampered with. You always did have a talent with the reels, Atropos.” He shared a smirk with Thanatos. “And that is what makes you so valuable as a specimen…along with the little blond mouse you so thoughtfully delivered to us. Rest assured, ‘sister’, you will cooperate or that boy you’re so fond of will die a slow, painful death.”

They made it to Grell’s detainment cell, where a shadowed, weeping figure was curled up on the cot against the wall. Hypnos unlocked the cage and he opened it.

"Put her in with her progeny for a while," he ordered his underlings. "I am sure they have things to discuss, before we send our friends to collect Lady ‘Moira’s’ brother."

Moira stumbled as she was pushed into the cell, but quickly whirled back around, throwing her body against the barred door. Her hands taking hold of the cold iron.

"Hypnos, no….don’t! I beg you don’t hurt my brother! Leave him be!" she begged breathing heavily.

Chuckling at her pleas, Thanatos reached between the bars and grabbed her braid at the base of her head, pulling her head back. She gasped in surprise, her mouth forced open. She looked up at the grinning ancient, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. With his other hand, he grabbed her chin and shook her as her hands grabbed at his.

Slowly, he turned his head and spoke to his brother. “I have a better idea. An experiment I think you might rather enjoy, brother. Instead of the ‘greenie’, mate her with the demon. I would very much love to see how his kind mates. And just think if she were to be impregnated by him. A fertile reaper with a _very_ fertile demon. Of course that would depend if she could withstand his spawn. Wouldn’t you much rather like to see what they could create?”

Moira’s eyes grew terrifyingly round and she clawed, panicking, at Thanatos hands. “No! No! No!”

"Let her go," instructed Wundt. "As intriguing as that is. I won’t subject her to that. She’s one of us. I won’t endanger her like that. She is worth too much. We’ll find another for that experiment. Give her a few minutes. I’ll have the youngling cleaned up and have him ready for her return. We’ll begin as soon as she is done here." Wundt instructed looking directly at her. "You will, my dear or I will personally see to his torture."

Moira swallowed hard and stumbled back as Thanatos’ hands released her. She stared back at her fellow ancients in dismay. What had she done? What trouble had she gotten them into. She couldn’t remember what happened or why they were there? But inside she could feel it. This was all her fault.

"Fine, brother. We shall do it your way. I will excuse myself and make the preparations." Thanatos replied, displeased. He turned away, his long locks whipping around behind him. The sound of his foot falls echoing down the hall.

"In half hours time, my dear," Wundt smiled as he glanced over at Grell’s quivering body. "Go to her."

Moira looked over at the redhead and slowly walked up to the cot, while silently, Wundt left them. He would watch from the viewing room. It would be interesting to see how they reacted to one another. He smiled ruthlessly stepping into the viewing room and taking his seat before a monitor.

The ancient looked about the room before walking around the bed and kneeling down at Grell’s side. She hesitated reaching out to touch the weeping redhead’s arm. It couldn’t be Clodagh. But this child crying before her, she looked so much like her. Moira shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. She could have sworn it had been many years, but that her child no longer lived.

"Child, my name is Moira. I won’t hurt you," she cooed as she squeezed Grell’s arm gently, introducing herself. Then tenderly she reached up and combed the loose strands of hair covering Grell’s tear stained face. "What have they done to you?"

But as the last lock of crimson was removed from Grell’s face, Moira nearly fell backwards. It couldn’t be and yet, she could swear it was her daughter lying upon the small bed in front of her. “How? You can’t be her.”

"Moira?" Grell whispered, sniffling. "Is it you?"

His voice was that of a trembling child and his eyes were blurry from his glasses being taken from him and the tears falling from his eyes. When the woman nodded a reply of yes, Grell pulled himself to the edge of the bed and surprising her, he wrapped his arms around her neck.

This reaper, she was blood. Moira could feel it, but how? She could not remember their connection, yet she knew this was her blood in her arms. Tears gathered and overflowed from her eyes. Not letting go she got up and sat down on the bed, rocking the weeping redhead in her arms.

"How are we related, child? I know we are of the same blood, but my records, they have been tampered with. I know you not and yet I do. I cannot explain it, but we are related, are we not?" she asked softly, pressing her cheek to the crown of Grell’s head.

Slowly Grell lifted his head and looked up, his eyes puffy and wide. “You don’t remember me?”

Moira’s heart lurched. She was suppose to know her, this weeping child in her arms. “I am afraid not. I am sor-“

"Moira?!" Grell exclaimed as the brunette began to convulse in his arms. Carefully he laid her down upon the covers. Her eye lids fluttered rapidly and her body shook. Grell tried to keep her from rolling off the bed by holding her gently in his arms. "Moira?! What’s happening to you?! What did they do?!"

Thousands of images flickered and flashed before her eyes. An entire eternity rapidly coursing through her mind as her reels began to repair the damage inflected by her betraying brethren. Her hands flexed and relaxed as her body thrashed in her Grandchild’s arms. Things she had long forgotten raged back to the forefront of her mind. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes as blood seeped from the corners of her mouth. Quickly Grell grabbed the sheet of his bed and wiped the blood from her lips. He was scared and helpless. All he could do was hold onto her determined not to lose her.

Suddenly, Moira’s eyes shot open. Dazed and confused at first she looked straight up into her weeping Granddaughter’s eyes. “Grell.” She whispered, then coughed. Blood was in her dormant lungs. They had stilled in her seizure and now as they began to slowly pump once more, they began to suction more blood back down into them, filling them. She rolled onto her stomach heaving and spitting. Horrified, Grell released her and rubbed the ancients back.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock of the door, had both Grell and Moira looking up as two reapers dressed as orderlies marched into the cell. Wundt followed them in, a wicked grin gracing his face.

"Your time has been cut short, my precious Atropos. It seems you have regained your memories much quicker than I had expected." He looked at his subordinates and snapped his fingers. "Take her. She is ready for the next experiment."

As the two reapers took a hold of Moira’s arms, Grell hit at them. Blows striking their arms and occasionally making contact with their heads. He was careful not hit his grandmother, but suddenly he felt an arm slip around his waist. Kicking and screaming he was dragged from the bed and held out of the way by his captor as Moira was dragged from the cell, blood trailing to the door.

 

Ronald struggled to wake up, struggled to come back to himself. Where was he? Oh wait…Hippo’s fun house, that’s right. Those so called orderlies had bathed him and then…he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten in here, though? He struggled into a sitting position. He was naked, lying on a…a bed. He looked about the room. There was a pillow on the bed, and he fluffed it with a frown of confusion.

Slowly, the door to the room creaked open and Moira stepped into the room. She was wearing a pale blue bathrobe. Her hair was piled and pinned up. She paused just inside the room and turned her head as the door was locked behind her. She was nervous and scared. She knew they were being watched, even now.

"M-Moira? That you?"

She heard him speak her name and she peered over at him. Her insides twisted, but she straightened her back and slowly began to walk towards him.

_~Please don’t refuse, Ronald.~_

He watched her as she moved across the room, approaching him. She began to untie her robe as she walked. Her pale, beautiful flesh peeked out from behind the robe. She was just as nude as he was beneath the soft fabric. He felt oddly ashamed as he watched her breasts bounce with her movements. So pretty, but he should not be looking at her that way right now. Why was he so…horny? This was about the worst time in the world he could imagine to be thinking with his dick.

"What th’ fuck is with me?" he complained, pressing a hand to his feathered blond head.

"Ronald," she whispered as she came to a stop before him. She swallowed hard and released a shaky breath. The air was chilly as she let the  robe slip from her shoulders and drop to the floor.

"Um…" his eyes followed the crumpled material, before lifting again to look at the beauty before him. His groin throbbed and his breath caught. "I’m really confused, baby. Am I dreamin’?"

Damn, she was gorgeous. It was so hard to think about anything else.

"So confused," he confessed again. "What’s going on here? This ain’t right…even with my head all messed up, I know something’s wrong, here."

He saw the camera in the corner of the room and some part of his poor, muddled brain maintained enough chivalry to want to shield her from that evil little eye.

"Sh-shit…come here," he urged, reaching out for her. He was feeling too fuzzy-headed to try and get up to grab the robe she’d dropped to the floor. All he had available to him to offer some concealment was the flimsy pillow and his own body, and he could barely even stay in an upright position.

"Shh," Moira admonished as she straddled his hips and pushed him back down. "It’s all right, Ronald."

While she appreciated him trying his best to cover her nudity, in truth it would do neither one of them any good. They would be watched from all angles. There were cameras placed in various spots throughout the observation room. She had been given her orders and what the punishment would be, if she refused to copulate with her lover.

Her eyes were downcast as she placed her hands on his chest, and as she slowly raised her head to look him in the eyes, Moira whispered: “Don’t fight me.”

Then her hands slowly slid up his chest and over his shoulders. As he looked up at her, she lowered her head and pressed their mouths together. All the while letting her hands slither up to the back of his head and begin massaging the back of his scalp.

Ronald was even more confused, and he wondered if he was dreaming. Yeah, that had to be it…he was having a wet dream. How the hell else could this be explained?

"Don’t wanna wake up," he murmured against her lips. "Feels so real though…"

Moira paused and looked into his eyes. She wondered if she should let him think it was just a dream or tell him that it was not. Her heart seized and with a shaky breath she whispered, “Ronnie, you’re not dreaming. I’m really here with you, now. We’re being watched.”

Was she doing the right thing? Yes. She couldn’t stand the idea of lying to him, letting him think it was just a dream. She loved him. She would never take advantage of him. Not for anyone.

"They want us to…" Her gaze wandered from his face. "They want us to mate."

_~Mate? Like…livestock or something?~_

He didn’t realize at first that he hadn’t spoken the question aloud. He was having so much trouble connecting his brain to his mouth. His brow crinkled as he tried to make sense of it, and his hands impulsively slid over her smooth, outer thighs, spurred on by the influence of whatever they’d given him to make him so horny.

"Why?" He managed, trying to clear his thoughts. "Dun’ get it. Are they…tryin’ to breed us or somethin’? B-but most…reapers can’t…um…wha’s that word? Can’t think of it…make babies. I think I’ve…only met a couple th’ whole…time I’ve b-been one. If they…want a cheap thrill…they can g-get some porn."

Her eyes slowly moved back to his. Gently, she touched his cheek. She tried to smile, but she was beginning to tremble inside. Briefly she bit her lip, before speaking again. “I’m fertile and..and they know it. They want to see if I can create another child. I don’t know why, but if we don’t… Ronnie, please don’t fight me. Don’t argue, just…”

Moira’s lip began to quiver. She felt as though tears would take over and consume her. She lifted her head and looked about the room as best she could from her position over the blond. “They’re watching, Ronald.”

He started to understand, and while he wasn’t particularly wild about the idea of becoming a father, he didn’t want to even think about what they might do to her.

"This is…so fucked up," he sighed, "b-but I know ya wouldn’t…do this if…ya had a choice. It’s okay, b-beautiful. I just…wish I could…hide ya from their…sick eyes."

He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to pull together so that he could reassure her more coherently. He wasn’t a bashful sort and if someone got their kicks out of watching him have sex, it didn’t really bother him. It was her he was worried about. He reached up to trace her lovely, anxious features with the pads of his fingers and he nodded, opening his eyes to gaze into hers.

"Just…pretend it’s only you and me, okay? Don’t even think about them. Just look at me. I’m your Knoxie, even if they’ve done a number on my head." It was the most he’d been able to say without stammering or stuttering since they started fucking around with his records and mind. At least none of their captors were trying to do the honors, and for that at least, he was grateful.

She nodded in reply and whispered, “Do you remember what you said about making love to me, slowly? Will…will you…can you now?”

He nearly told her he was so fubar he had little choice but to, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to worry her more. He kept seeing flashes of memories in his head…memories that weren’t his own. At least he still knew more or less where he was, who he was and why he was there. At least they hadn’t stolen his memory of her.

Rather than agree with words, he drew her down for a slow kiss. His fingers combed through her lustrous hair, loosening from the braid.

"C-can I take this braid out?" he asked, voice husky against her lips. He wanted her hair loose and cascading around her shoulders. It wasn’t long enough to provide much cover from prying eyes, but it was something…and her hair was so soft and smooth.

Once more she nodded and then closed her eyes. She turned her head slightly, so he could see how her hair was pinned.

"There is a pin holding it together, at the back my head. Pull it and it should unravel." Slowly she opened her eyes and peered back down at him. "I’m glad it is you…that is with me."

He managed a smile for her. She was thinking the same thing. It made him feel good that she felt safe with him, even though they were both being violated. He tried not to think of it that way as he reached up to begin freeing her hair from its binding, letting the pin fall to the bed carelessly. He loosened the braid and he tried to keep his vision focused on her as he gently combed his fingers through it. Sliding his hands down over her shoulders once her hair was freed, he caressed her arms all the way down to the hands, and then to the fingertips.

"Sorry about the setting, baby," he whispered, feeling oddly light as he let go of her hands and ran his palms over her thighs and hips. There were certain areas to pay attention to when making love to a woman, and they weren’t always the parts that guys tended to go for first. He might not be right in the head at the moment, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do his best, anyhow.

He sat up carefully, wincing as his throbbing erection rubbed against his lover’s thigh. Shit, it ached…he just wanted to ram it in…but he wouldn’t do that. Especially right now.

"They want a show?" he gasped once he was sitting and had his arms around her. At least now her breasts and loins were hidden from view by his body. "Then I’ll show ‘em how a real man makes love to a lady."

Moira winced with him as he sat up and then gently, she brushed her fingertips over his temple. Clinging to him, she wrapped her other arm around his neck and then smiled at him. A stray lock of hair clung to his pulsing temple. She tucked it back behind his ear. Then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his brow, kissing him chastely and once more began to massage the back of his head.

"I am so sorry, Ronald. I did this to us," she whispered, "I can feel him watching, but I can’t refuse. Help me forget where we are."

"I’ll do my…damnest," he promised, and he sought out her lips with his own.

His fingers kneaded her shoulders and back, working their way down and alternating between massaging and caressing as they went. His tongue met hers in a slow caress as he worked his hands over her body, trying to ease her tension. He kept her close to his body as he continued to stroke, rub and caress her back with one hand, while raising the other back up to her neck. His fingertips lightly trailed over the side of her neck, tracing the shell of her ear and jaw. He kept her mouth occupied in a deep kiss, his breath quickening as the reality of their situation began to fade away.

"Moira," he whispered against her lips, breaking the kiss after a few moments.

He urged her to tilt her head back and bare the creamy, long column of her throat for his lips, and when she did, he ran the back of his fingernails lightly down one side; skimming over the curve of her breast as he kissed and sucked her tender, fair skin. He couldn’t resist rubbing against her as he touched her all over, avoiding the more obvious areas right away. His other hand caressed the soft skin where her tailbone met her buttocks, while the one in front lovingly stroked over her hip, stomach and ribs.

The tip of his arousal pressed intimately against her moistening loins as he attended every sensitive spot he could think of, still avoiding every man’s eventual goals.

"I’m totally…in love with you," he confessed breathlessly, nipping at her shoulder lightly before sucking on it.  

Slowly she raised her head. Her fingers were lost in his soft hair as her nails scrapped the back of his scalp. She rocked her hips slightly, automatically. She was beginning to ache between her legs. He did that to her. She always wanted him, even here, in this observation room. And somewhere in the back of her head, she had a thought. She was glad Thanatos was watching. He would be able to see what he could never have; and then Ronald’s words sunk in and her heart leapt. It began to pound harder against her rib cage.

"I love you just as much, if not more so," she replied as she closed her eyes and focused on what his mouth and hands were doing. "Let a thousand men watch, so long as it is you that is with me. Touching me. Inside me. Making love to me."

Ronald’s passion started drowning out the mind-numbing side-effects of the drugs they’d given him, and his kisses became more fervent, his touches more eager. He slid both hands down her thighs, then up again. He finally sought out one of the areas his baser instincts always urged him to go for, but he was gentle. He stroked around the soft padding of flesh surrounding her womanhood, lightly caressing with his fingertips. His other hand slid up her ribcage to cup a breast gently, his thumb circling the nipple to pleasure it. His mouth hungrily pressed against hers in a kiss, and he shifted his hips to nudge more firmly against her entrance, the tip just barely pressing in.

_~Fuck ‘em. I’m with her and that’s all I care about, right now.~_

His tongue again sought out hers in a sensual caress, his breath making his nostrils flair as he nudged in just a little deeper, penetrating her to the ridge of the tip of his cock. His fingers caressed around the soft, delicate tissue he was slowly easing into, brushing against that elusive little nub that so many guys apparently had such trouble finding. Ronald didn’t, though—not even in his compromised state of mind.

She gasped into the kiss and gripped the back of his shoulders. Carefully, she let her legs slide further apart, providing more access to her core. The muscles between her legs flexing as she felt the tip of his erection pass her entrance.

"Ronald," she moaned.

It was him entering her body. Not Thanatos. Not the demon. It was the man she was in love with. The man she wanted to give her heart to, was giving her heart to. If a child was the result of their love making, then she couldn’t be more happier to know it was his.

"Ohh," he cried in answer, his pleasure as he pressed a little deeper making his length twitch. "Ah, hell…Moira…I…I can’t…"

He had to be all the way inside of her. He was burning for her, now. He put his hands on her hips and he pulled her onto him, kissing her hard as his length slid in deeper…deeper. His breath caught when he was finally fully wedged inside, and he embraced her and held her tightly. Breathing heavily against her shoulder, he swallowed and tried to calm himself down.

"Hokay," he gasped, "that was more…abrupt than I meant it to be, but I’m still gonna make it…good for ya."

He released her with one arm and he returned his attention to her clit, rubbing it slowly with his fingers as he held her close and kissed her. He twitched again inside of her and he grunted, wondering if he could even come in this state. He tried to be attentive to her; not selfish. He started to shift beneath her, rocking his hips to slide back and forth inside of her while he pleasured her with his fingers. He kissed and nibbled her gasping lips, hoping it felt as good to her as it did to him.

"Ahh…" She moaned as she sank deeper onto his hardened length. She fought to breathe as he kissed her more fervently. Her nails digging into his shoulders. Slowly her hips began to gyrate, their rhythms synchronizing as they moved together. Her eyes flew open as his thumb passed over her sex. A jolt of pleasure surging through her. She broke the kiss and stared into his eyes.

"Ronnie…" His name came out in a pant as she rose and fell, riding him.

"That’s it, gorgeous," he encouraged in a moan, his pelvis rolling to meet her gyrations. "All yours…for the taking. I’ll never…refuse you anything."

He wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. All he knew with clarity was that he had a goddess in his arms, milking him for every drop of passion and pleasure he could give…and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He kept fondling that tender little nub as he pumped, and he put one arm around her and lay his head on her shoulder, groaning with every motion. He felt like he was getting so close, but the precipice was elusive.

Moira’s eyes gradually closed. She ran the fingers of her right hand up and into his soft hair, holding him to her. She could feel her orgasm building, but wondered if she could complete. The closer she drew to the edge of ecstasy, it felt as though eyes were boring deeper into her. She seized as tiny shivers crawled and wiggled all throughout her body.

"Ronnie….Ronnie. I can’t!" she panicked pushing him up, so she could look at him. "I can’t do this. I can feel him. I thought I could and…and I know what will happen if I can’t. I just…"

Her eyes were wide with horror. She knew that if she didn’t finish with Ronald, what they would do to her. What they would force on her and what they would do to him. Thanatos and Hypnos were cruel and disgusting; but this felt odd and she felt dirty. Her stomach flipped; trying to ignore the nausea she laid her head on the blond’s shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"I know I have to finish…if I don’t, but this feels…I don’t like him watching," she whispered.

Ronald swallowed and put both arms around her, completely understanding. He rocked her gently back and forth, trying to comfort her. By the sounds of their goals, he was the one that needed to finish…but if she couldn’t get at least a little something out of it, he was pretty damned sure he wouldn’t be able to finish, either.

"Shit," he muttered against her neck. "W-where the hell’s ‘Taker?"

He couldn’t quite remember what had happened to him. He got hurt…somehow.

"Gone," she whispered. "That demon…that awful demon, Thanatos wanted me to…"

She couldn’t finish the sentence; instead she clung tighter to the blond.

"Ronald don’t let them take me from you. Come inside me if you can…please. You have to. If we don’t finish." Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she placed a kiss at the crook of his neck. "Don’t worry about my pleasure. I don’t want to give him that. Fill me with your seed. That is all they want from us. As long as you mate with me and complete. They won’t harm you or force me and that demon to…"

Again she could not finish her statement. Every time she even tried to speak of mating with the demon, her blood turned to ice and she felt like throwing up. The act alone would be torture and the thought of being impregnated by the beast, made her heart stop. No. She would make love a thousand times over with Ronald, until she carried his babe inside her, if it only meant no other being touched her. She would deny herself the pleasure of their love making, for the sake of denying Thanatos, who would always watch.

Her words sent a thrill of protectiveness and outrage through Ronald. “Th-they’d do that? Fuck…of course they would. D-damn it!”

He couldn’t even begin to describe how fucked up it was that he’d have to hump her like an animal right in front of some pervert, just to keep them from letting the crow demon rape her. The whole thing made him feel like puking…but if this was the only way he could protect her right now…

Ronald swallowed and resumed thrusting, holding her tight.

"I’m sorry," he gasped against her ear. "One day…I’ll give ya the lovin’ y’ deserve, Moira."

He pumped faster, desperate to finish it so he could stop them from violating her any more and hold her for a while. It was some small comfort to him that she wanted to be with him…made if feel less like he was raping her.

"I’m sorry," he gasped over and over again as he strove to make himself come. Tears trickled from his eyes and he kissed the side of her face. He couldn’t stop apologizing, even when he finally managed to climb his way over the crest and spill himself.

He took no pleasure in the orgasm beyond purely physical, and even that seemed forced to him. It was intense and he spurted hard inside of her, but it wasn’t anywhere near the bliss he’d felt that first time, when both of them had been willing and desperate and eager for each other. He was still hard when it finished…no big surprise there, considering the shit they’d pumped into him. He had no idea what it was but he had a bad feeling he’d be stuck with a woody for a while, no matter how many times he got off.

"I’m s-sorry," he whimpered again when he was spent, rocking her soothingly and still wedged inside of her. "If…if a baby happens from this and we get out of here alive…I’m gonna be there. I might suck as a Dad, but…I’ll still try."

Moira felt his body tense and release. It was bittersweet. She held on to him tighter as he spent himself inside of her. Thanatos would be disappointed that he was denied a show, but she could careless. She kept her face buried against her lover’s shoulder, finding comfort in his arms.

"Don’t apologize. You are not forcing me to do anything. They are. At least Hypnos chose you," she whispered in reply.

Her heart ached knowing that Ronald blamed himself and accused himself of violating her. That was the furthest thing from the truth. He was loving her and being there for her. It was her fellow ancients. It was them that sought to humiliate her and destroy her. She was a Goddess of Death and they were treating her like some mortal whore. She was grateful that Ronald and herself had made love before this. How horrid to have this as the memory of their first time, but it wasn’t. She smiled, remembering how she had snuck down to his room. Another nightmare waking her from her slumber and his arms waiting there to bring her comfort. Even now he was comforting her, just like he had every time she had a nightmare.

Breath hitching, he just held her and rocked her and hoped to gods he could get the chance to hack those who had done this to bits with his mower. Undertaker dead, Grell imprisoned and probably being violated by Wundt as they spoke. Him and Moira, trapped and forced to “mate” like farm animals for the twisted pleasure of their captors. He felt utterly helpless, and bits of himself were starting to fade away. If he could just hold onto her, maybe he could hold on to himself, too.

 

Khronos was silent for several minutes after Lawrence finished explaining everything to him—not that he particularly had another choice, since his vocal chords were damaged. He’d pulled his hood down again once his eyes got more accustomed to the light, and he sat with his legs crossed and one bare foot tapping on the carpet of the parlor. He nursed his cup of tea thoughtfully, eyes narrowed beneath his parted bangs. There were still dark circles of fatigue surrounding them, but he looked much better now that he’d eaten. Anderson watched him with a sympathetic, helpless expression on his face, waiting for him to say something, or at least type something into the texting tablet he’d shown him how to use.

"I am so sorry," whispered Lawrence, "I should have been able to do more. The demon was immune to my abilities though, and it was all we could do to subdue him enough to get you away. I feel as though I’ve failed you all."

Khronos shook his head and sighed. Rather than attempt to type into the device, he spoke in a raspy whisper, leaning forward in his chair so that Anderson could make out his words.

"You couldn’t have known. Your powers were designed to be subtle, not aggressive. I’d never have guessed demons couldn’t be influenced by it, either."

Lawrence sighed, “What do you wish to do now, Khronos…aside from the obvious? A day of rest would do you some good—”

Khronos shook his silver head. “I’ve rested enough,” he rasped.

Trying to speak hurt his throat, and he swallowed. Deciding to let his actions speak for him, he set the tea down and he stood up. Closing his eyes in concentration, he summoned his clothing, manifesting it over his body beneath the cover of his loose black robe. He removed his robe and draped it on the armchair, leaving him in his long-sleeved, black button-up over-shirt. The garment fell to just below his knees, parting below the waist where the buttons ended to reveal his leg-hugging black pants and his thigh-high boots, laden with buckles and straps. He didn’t bother with his chain of mourning lockets; those could remain here until he was finished. His death scythe took form in his hands once more, and he opened his eyes and looked down at his friend with renewed purpose blazing in his gaze.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked out of the parlor. Anderson hastily snatched up his robes and followed him through the front door and outside onto the porch. The skies were overcast and there was a smell of rain lingering in the air.

"Khronos, we need some plan of action," he cautioned. "They were able to subdue Moira and Knox…and I’m sorry to say I doubt I’d have fared any better, had I’d been there with them. They have armed guards manning the facilities, as well as several reapers in their ranks. Not to mention, the chances are high they still have Michaelis in their custody, as well as the boy. If that is the case, they can use the demon again, and I won’t be of much use to you against him."

The taller reaper turned to regard him, and a cold, reckless smile curved his pallid lips.

"I don’t need you for your powers, old chap," he whispered, the sound difficult to hear over the wind. "I need you for that logical, calculating brain in your skull. Are you coming or not?"

Anderson sighed. “Of course, I am.”

 

* * *

-To be continued


	20. Chapter 20

In another part of the asylum, a forgotten area; the room was a former torture chamber, from a bygone time. Wundt stood at the helm of a futuristic looking machine—a machine not foreign to the reaper realm. But to the mortals of Victorian London, one would imagine it from a science-fiction novel. This was where the redhead’s interrogation—or perhaps more like torture—had begun. While Moira and Ronald were being observed by Thanatos, here Wundt had begun a new form of questioning.

"Wundt, stop! Please stop!" Grell screamed as another shock assaulted his body. This time it felt as if ice was being poured into his spine and he shook from the painful sensation.

Grell was seated upon a chair of rough wood. His legs were parted and bound at the ankles to the legs of the chair. Another set of straps bound his thighs to the seat. There was no back-rest, but instead a plank of wood was affixed to the chair in front of him; forcing him to lean at an angle away from the chair itself. His torso was resting forward against the plank, with his face positioned in a round hole near the top of the beam—allowing him to breathe, if he so wished. This also allowed him to speak and answer questions.  His wrists were restrained as well, tethered to the sides of the beam, and his body was held firmly in place by four thick leather straps that crossed at the top and base of his head, his shoulders, and around his waist.

Grell’s hospital gown was opened, exposing his back. Large needles attached to wires were strategically inserted along his spine; from the small of his back to the base of his head. They pierced his flesh and were driven into the spinal column, itself. The attached wires were hooked to the machine that Wundt was controlling. Each needle was capable of sending electricity or various forms of temperature into Grell’s body. It was a device unlike anything the redhead had ever laid eyes upon.

His screams echoed and bounced off the stone walls with every violent wave of energy zapped into his tired and trembling body. Still the same question met  his ears, over and over. “The Book of The Dead, where is it?” Grell’s answer was always the same. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t know of a Book of The Dead.” Tears rained down from his eyes as he was forced to endure the torment.

"It isn’t wise to continue lying to me, Erdbeere," reminded Wundt. He activated another shock and he smiled as Grell screamed. "I would rather love you than hurt you, Grell. Just tell me what I wish to know, and the pain will cease."

 

* * *

 

Dispatch HQ, Shinigami London:

"Any idea wha’ this is about, Alan?" Eric walked alongside his partner through the corridors of Dispatch headquarters; they were heading for Spears’ office after being told to drop everything.

Alan shook his head.

"I couldn’t say. It sounds a bit serious, though." He looked up at his companion’s tall form suspiciously, his youthful features suddenly suspicious. "Did you do something again to get into trouble? I’d really rather not get dragged into it."

"I dinnae do a thing!" Eric spread his hands and shrugged, "Least, not that I know of."

"Well, I certainly hope not," sighed Alan. He opened the door to William’s office and went in first, with Eric not far behind.

"Good afternoon, sir." He gave a small bow of respect to the dark-haired reaper waiting within for them.

"Boss." Eric nodded. "Somethin’ up?"

William was standing by the window, peering out over the grounds. He was in the process of adjusting the collar of his coat when he heard his two subordinates enter his office. Slowly, he turned to face them, a grim expression written across his features. He cleared his throat and summoned his scythe.

"I am sending you, along with myself, to Germany."

Eric and Alan glanced at one another.

"Wha’ for?" asked the Scotsman.

Alan thought he knew. He’d been gently pushing for an investigation on the facilities holding Grell, and when he found out Ronald tried to break in and they had him too, he began pushing a little harder.

"Would this have anything to do with Sutcliff and Knox, sir?" There was a hopeful tone in his voice. His partner had been worrying sick over Knox—whom he regarded as a good friend.

"Yes." Will replied, marching over to his desk. He opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a second scythe. It too was a pair of clippers like the one he carried on him at all times. This one would be back up, if by chance his scythe was lost or destroyed.

"I have reason to believe something unsavory is taking place at the mortal mental facility in Germany. The one in which Doctor Wilhelm Wundt administrates under cover." He looked between the two reapers standing before him. "I have a nagging feeling I have been misinformed of the goings on there. I want us to do a drop in inspection of the hospital. Find out if the information I have been given is just rumor or if it is true."

Both of the partnered reapers were curious as to what sort of information William might have come across, but they were just as eager to finally get to the bottom of things, after all. Neither of them believed for a moment that Ronald Knox would betray Dispatch, and if he’d gone in to try and break Grell out, then it stood to reason something wasn’t right with Sutcliff’s incarceration, either.

"Ready tae go when you are, boss." Eric manifested his scythe, and Alan did the same with a nod.

 

* * *

 

They arrived through the portal Khronos had made, and Lawrence stumbled along behind his companion as the tall, silver reaper began his advance on the distant compound.

"Khronos; wait," he implored. "I’ve told you this place is heavily guarded! Moira is no pushover and Mister Knox has demonstrated his talents in battle. They were both defeated and taken. We really should take the time to plan our course of action!"

The taller ancient kept moving, his black garments flapping in the wind as he steadily made his advance. His eyes stared ahead at the structure with grim purpose, and he raised one hand, silently communicating with the local wildlife. Moments later, three large black ravens came flying out of the nearby woodlands. They dropped out of the sky to perch themselves on him; one on the left shoulder, one on the right, and the third on his wrist. Khronos petted the third’s feathery head gently and he whispered to it. The bird cawed and its fellows answered it, before taking off in their ebony flight. The wind bore them away toward the compound swiftly and Lawrence quickened his steps to keep up with his companion.

"Undertaker! Did you hear a word I just said to you?"

The silver reaper nodded silently, saving his breath. There was no point in trying to speak over the noise of the wind right now. He had his purpose and he wouldn’t be deterred from it. Through the eyes of his avian friends, he got a good view of the compound from three different sides. There were windows he could try, a back entry and even a sewage entry. All three were apparently being guarded, however. Ronald and Moira’s earlier break-in had evidently convinced Hypnos and his minions to tighten security. No matter; the front door was just as good as any other.

"Khronos please stop a moment," implored Anderson as the taller man’s purposeful footsteps carried him closer and closer to the structure. "At least take a moment to consider a less obvious entry!"

Undertaker neither slowed nor paused, and he manifested his scythe as he strode quietly up to the front entry. Two human guards called out a warning and a demand for identification. He ignored them. Anderson winced as shots were fired, but his companion waved a gloved hand and the bullets halted in mid-air. There was a metallic glint as the Undertaker’s scythe swept in a wide arch through the air, cutting through it with a mournful howl. Both guards went down, their cinematic records halted in mid-release as the attacking reaper halted time around them. They hung there in suspended animation, both uniformed men stuck in oddly comical poses with their backs arched. The one on the left’s gun had slipped from his hand and it floated a few inches from his spread fingers, utterly motionless in the air.

"Or you could just do that," mumbled Lawrence with raised brows. He hadn’t seen his friend do a trick like that for countless centuries, and it reminded him of how powerful Khronos really was beneath all the smiles, laughter and jokes. It was so easy to forget what he truly was, given how many times he’d recently stuffed up even the most mundane tasks set before him.

Not now, though. This truly was no longer the mad Undertaker. This was a mightily pissed off god of time and death, and Khronos’ steady advance wasn’t likely to be halted easily.

Anderson called forth his own death scythe despite his misgivings, though considering the mood his companion was in, he suspected all he might need to do was follow the path of casual destruction. Sirens began to go off as Khronos dispatched and froze three more human security guards, and a reaper bearing a sickle scythe tried to intercept them as soon as they passed through the front doors. Khronos ducked beneath his initial sweeping attack, reversed his scythe to drive the butt-end into his stomach, then twirled the weapon around and sliced his head completely off. The spray of blood immediately following the retaliatory attack did not get the chance to splatter anything. Like the human guards, the reaper was frozen in time. Crimson liquid hovered motionless in the air, bright drops glistening like jewels. The separated head bore a blankly surprised, stupid expression as it hung suspended over the body it had been attached to moments ago. Glowing reels snaked out from the stump of the neck where the head had been cut off, looking oddly like phosphorescent fibers from some sea plant.

Khronos walked around his latest victim, hardly giving the body a glance. One of the ravens he’d summoned before flew into the building and landed on his shoulder, cawing at him. He nodded and pointed down the main corridor he was approaching, giving it some silent command. It took to the air again and flew away to scout ahead, flying over the surprised heads of the facility staff and security that had begun to emerge to address the threat.

"Oh dear," breathed Lawrence. The bloodbath intensified, and he didn’t even get the chance to lift a finger as the body count steadily climbed.

 

* * *

 

Wundt had just finished giving Grell a sip of water, and he was about to resume his interrogation when he heard the alarms going off. He frowned and he retrieved his phone from his belt when it began to buzz.

"What now?" he demanded, brows drawing down in frustration.

"Sir…there’s been a breach," answered one of his reaper security guards. "I think…I think you’d better come and look."

Wundt compressed his lips and glanced at his prisoner. He looked at the guard and he nodded toward Grell. “Watch her. Don’t so much as touch her, though. Just keep her conscious while I see to this.”

He left the room and he went down the hall to the underground security monitoring room.

"What is it?" he demanded testily as he walked in and the two guards monitoring the cameras turned to face him. "What kind of rabble tried to break in to our fortress this time?"

He half expected to find Lawrence leading a team of fool greenies he’d convinced to join him, when they stepped aside and told him he’d better see for himself. Instead, he saw something that made him go still, the blood draining from his face. One of the screens monitoring the outside entry to the facilities showed human guards floating in mid-air, frozen still in death. Their cinematic records snaked out from a single, long slash in each guard’s torso that looked as though it had nearly cut them in half. The records weren’t moving. He looked at another screen fed from a camera in the main corridor and he saw a similar scene—this one with a reaper security guard. He’d been beheaded, but he was stuck in mid-fall with his severed head suspended over the stump of his neck.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt the chill of fear. “No…it can’t be. The demon finished him…”

But as he looked at another screen, he saw the undeniable evidence that his information concerning his enemy’s death wasn’t accurate. He saw the tall figure wading through the still bodies of both humans and reapers, with another familiar form following close behind him. Khronos’ hair moved eerily as he walked—or perhaps it just appeared eerie because he and Moros were the only two figures in motion.

"You…you troublesome filth," he spat, eyes wide with surprise and anger. He picked up his phone and he dialed his strongest ally. "Thanatos, leave security guards at the two subjects’ holding room door and come to my sector immediately. We have an issue that must be addressed."

 

* * *

 

Thanatos had already heard the alarms sound. He was still watching Atropos and her newest paramour. In their confinement, they were unable to hear the sirens wailing all around them. He was frustrated and disappointed, angry, that the ancient had kept from expressing herself as she was fucked by the young reaper. But now this, another interruption.

"What the hell is going on Hypnos? What interrupts us this time…Moros? Has that plume-plucked coward developed a backbone all of a sudden?" Thanatos growled as his hand’s grip tightened around the phone he was holding.

"He is here," confirmed Hypnos, "but his is not the backbone we need concern ourselves with. He’s in the company of Khronos, and they’ve already cut through most of our security on the ground floor level. It appears the hysterical old maniac isn’t dead after all, and from what I’ve witnessed, he’s regained most—if not all—of his old abilities. We must come up with a plan quickly, or we are going to lose everything!"

There was a note of slight panic in Wundt’s voice…desperation.

Thanatos let the information seep in slowly. It could not be true. His brother had to be losing it. There was nothing in the blond’s records to indicate that Khronos had survived the demon’s attack. No. Impossible. The young reaper’s records clearly showed the ancient’s throat severed and his lifeless body sprawled upon the ground, with his record spewing from the slit in his flesh.

Saying nothing more, Thanatos hung up the phone and with an open mouth; he turned to the nearest surveillance monitor. Quickly he began switching channels, viewing corridor after corridor and room after room. Then movement caught his eye and he stopped, and he watched. First Moros appeared and then the wraith.

"Khronos…" He snarled, slamming his fist down upon the desk where the monitor sat. "Damn you! Why don’t you just die?"

 

* * *

 

Outside a few yards from the facility, another portal opened and William T. Spears, Eric Slingby and Alan Humphries stepped out of it. They stood surveying for a moment, listening to the sirens going off.

"That can’t be good," murmured Alan.

"Wull, we’re here tae investigate, so let’s do it," suggested Eric eagerly.

William gave the nod and the three Dispatch agents approached the compound. When they found the dead guards hanging in suspended animation, Eric went up to one with his scythe drawn, keeping a sharp eye out. He frowned at the first guard he came to, and he tapped the frozen man on the shoulder. He jumped back when the suspended body suddenly went limp and dropped to the cement, spilling blood everywhere. The reels poured freely from the body now, snaking upwards.

"Er…" he scratched the back of his head and looked at his companions, shrugging. "Guess we shouldn’t touch ‘em."

He quickly drew in the reels into his scythe for collection, guessing the fellow’s name was probably on the death lists.

Alan cupped a drop of blood hanging in the air in his hands, and the moment his skin came into contact with it, the ruby liquid responded to air and gravity again and splattered his palm.

"This is so strange. It’s as if they’ve been…preserved…for later collection?"

Will looked at the floating bodies with disgust. He had never seen anything like it before. However, he had heard of rumors about the powers the ancients once displayed. He knew Undertaker was an ancient as well as Moira and Lawrence Anderson. Though they seemed to have repressed their abilities, as they were ordered to over a millenium ago. Was it possible some other phenomena were occurring here or had an ancient awoken the lost arts of their true being? An uneasy feeling washed over the normally stoic and cold reaper.

"Yes, it would appear so, Mister Humphries." He cleared his throat and motioned to the door with his head. "Let us continue forward, but do be on guard. There is most definitely something amiss and I intend to discover what that is."

They stepped inside to find an even bloodier scene, with both reaper and human guards stuck in suspended poses of death. Like the bodies out front, their cinematic records were frozen in mid-escape. Eric gave a little start when he nearly came face-to face with a severed head hanging motionless above the neck it had once been attached to.

Alan carefully stepped over the entrails of a mortal guard lying on his side, paused in the act of trying to stuff them back in with a horrified look on his bearded face.

"This," whispered the small brunet, "is awful! I…what could have done this?"

"They’re scythe cuts," reminded Eric, "else tha records wouldnae be comin’ out."

"Yes, but what reaper could put them in a stasis like this?" Alan’s eyes were wide in his pale face. "Can either of you feel that? There is a demon somewhere in here. It’s faint, but…what if it got hold of a reaper scythe, somehow?"

Will looked around the entry way.

"I smell the faintest aroma of demon. However, that does not mean one is running around here. There could be one held up in here for experimentation. I have heard some rather odd rumors about Doctor Wundt. I would not be surprised that he would do such a thing."

He looked between his companions and added, “Though be on the look out. Do not take things for granted here.”

Eric heaved a sigh. “Any notion o’ where tae go? This place is like a rat’s maze.”

Alan looked around and bit his lip. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. Could we…try to track Grell, maybe? And Ronald? We should still have their spirit signatures in the tracers.”

William studied the corridor a head of them silently. He listened carefully to what the smaller brunet was suggesting and he stopped and nodded.

"Indeed, they should, Mister Humphries. I am also certain that if Doctor Wundt wished for privacy to run his form of treatment he will not be on this level or any level above ground. He would want privacy and to be as far away from the possibility of a mortal stumbling on his affairs."

Slowly, he turned back around to face his subordinates. Perhaps it would be best if they split up and searched the lower levels of the facility.

"Mister Slingby. Mister Humphries. I am going to venture to say that the lower levels, the basement of this building, is where our search will need to take place. If the corridors split off as they do up here, we shall split up and take different routes. Do you understand?"

Eric saluted him with his scythe. “Clear, boss.”

Alan nodded. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Down they went, with Undertaker cutting through the ranks so quickly that Lawrence didn’t even need to lift his scythe in battle. He imagined what his friend must look like to these people, and what it must feel like to be cut down by death itself. Khronos had taken his hooded robe from him and donned it just before entering the compound. Anderson winced inwardly at the carnage—particularly when the mortals fell prey to his rage. The human guards likely had no clue how corrupt this place was, or what the doctor they were working under truly was, for that matter.

"Khronos, do you even know where we’re going?"

The ancient stopped and turned, glancing at him from beneath the hood covering his silver hair. He jerked his chin toward the corridor up ahead, which branched off into two separate ones.

"Just follow," he mouthed, and then he was off again.

Lawrence sighed and followed him dutifully. They were going deeper and deeper into the lower levels of the facility, and he finally started to pick up on something. It was barely more than a whisper, but he felt it.

"Atropos."

Lawrence stopped, confused. He could sense his sister, but it was…different. Something wasn’t right, and he had trouble pinpointing her location. He realized that his companion was getting too far ahead of him, and he hurried to catch up. Maybe Khronos would lead them to both Moira and Grell…and with any luck, Ronald, as well.

 

* * *

 

Ronald lifted his head off Moira’s shoulder when something began to sheer through the steel door sealing their room closed. He’d drifted off, lulled by her patient stroking of his hair as they sat there together still entwined in their embrace.

"Moira," he said thickly, "I n-need to get up…could be trouble…"

The door fell inwards with a loud crash, and Ronald struggled to get his lover off of him so that he could at least attempt to defend her. He recognized the man that walked in with a saw in his hand, once he came close enough. He couldn’t think of his name, though. He knew he was his friend, and the shocked expression on his handsome, Gaelic features were evidence enough that he was no illusion.

"Man, am I glad to see you," gasped Ronald.

Poor Moira fell with a hard thud to the floor. She landed flat on her bared ass and looked across the room from under the bed. Another reaper—and one Ronald seemed to know well. Of course from this vantage point she could only see the tops of his boots, but there was an accent. Her mouth curved into a smile. Scotch! Quickly she scrambled to her hands and knees. Reaching around the blond’s legs, she snatched up the robe she had been provided by the orderlies that had cleaned her up; before depositing her in the observation room with Ronald.

She slipped it on and then called up to her lover. “Ronnie, my love, would you be so kind as to help a lady to her feet?”

While Ronald wobbled on his feet, still holding his fists up as if preparing for a fight, Eric glanced down and his eyebrows went up at the sight of the younger blond’s obviously excited state.

"Er…I can see yer happy tae see me. Who’s she?"

He gestured at Moira without actually looking at her, well aware of her nudity.

"Sh-she’s Moira," answered Ronald haltingly as he did his best to help her to her feet, without falling down himself. "She c-came here with me t’ rescue Senpai and…and…" he shook his head, still terribly confused about the details.

"Easy, lad," encouraged Eric when Ronnie started to lose his balance. He put an arm around him and he looked at the lovely, dark-haired female he was with. "Moira, eh? Sorry tae be demandin’, seein’ as you’ve both obviously been through a hell I cannae even guess, but can ya shed some light on this? I’m here wi’ two o’er agents from Dispatch; Spears an’ Humphries. We came tae investigate wha’s really happening here, but we split up tae try an’ cover more ground."

"Eric! Ronald suddenly yelled, startling the Scotsman enough to make him jump. "That’s your name! M-Moira, this is Eric. He…he’s my pal."

Eric smirked. “Nice tae meet ya, Moira. Ronnie, we can worry about deeper introductions later. Righ’ now, I need tae know what’s goin’ on. Quick summary, even.”

Moira glanced between the two males and then smiled at the new blond in the room.

"I agree, right now we need to find where they have our scythes. They appear to have discovered I was carrying Grell’s with me." She frowned when she realized she could not summon the redhead’s chainsaw. "I can explain as much as I can, as we go. Plus clothing for Ronald. Though I doubt he could not careless if he is wearing any. They tampered with his records and he has not been able to completely reconnect them as of yet. Hence the gaps in his memory."

Eric scowled. “Wundt did this? Who else?”

"He’s…not Wundt. He’s Hippo. His friend is Thingy-jig and they’ve b-been messin’ with my head and Grell’s."

Eric’s brows furrowed, and he looked at Moira. “I’m sure he cannae mean the doc turned into a hippo, and I haven’t a clue wha’ he means by ‘Thingy-jig’.”

He removed his blazer and covered Ronald with it. “It’s no’ much, but it’s better ‘n walkin’ around in yer bare skin, fer now. I’d say we could take tha clothes off one o’ th’ guards I took down on tha way here, but I’m fair sure I’ve carved ‘em up too much tae be of use. Might get lucky an’ run into ano’er one I can take down wi’out killin’.”

He put one arm around Ronald and he looked at Moira with concern. “Can ya walk? I’d offer tae carry ya, but Ronnie here’s in a bad way.”

"I am fine. Most of the tampering with my records has corrected itself. And the drugs they pumped in me have warn off. Also, he means two ancients. Hypnos and Thanatos," she replied as she made sure her robe was secured. "Surely there is a private office or something, where they would have our scythes stored. As we go lets keep an eye out for any or a storage closet."

Eric frowned, recalling something. “I saw a security desk when I came through down here. Looked like there was a vault behind it. Maybe we’ll find yer scythes there…Grell’s too. I’d love tae know jus’ wha’s been happenin’ here, but it’ll have tae wait.”

He pulled Ronald tighter against him and he held his scythe ready. “I’ll lead tha way. Ronnie, hold tight tae me.”

"S-sure thing," answered the blond readily…though his legs still felt like rubber and he was still sporting an embarrassing woody. "Heh…maybe I can scare ‘em off with my junk."

Eric smirked. “Now yer thinkin’ like a Celt.”

Moira gave a cocked smile behind the two blondes as Eric led the way, practically carrying Ronald. _~Men, always thinking about their genitalia. Does not matter what type of being they are. They all have the same obsession.~_

As soon as they stepped out the door, shots were fired. Eric ducked back into the room, and he pulled the door outwards to use it as cover. The damaged iron screeched in protest.

"Ronnie, Moira, stay down," he shouted. "I’ll take care o’ these."

Ronald made a pathetic attempt to shield Moira with his own half-naked body as Eric sheered the door off the rest of the way with his scythe and used it as a gigantic shield. His wild yell could be heard bouncing off the walls in the corridor as he rushed at the guards with it, followed by shouts of alarm, screams of pain and a choked-off cry.

"Of all the times t’ be caught w-without my scythe," complained Ronald. "He’s havin’ all the fun without me!"

Moira looked at the blond, confused.

"I’d think you would be more concerned about being caught with no pants on. Makes fighting and defending me a tad more difficult… I would think." Moira felt a tiny poke into her pelvic bone and looked down. "We really need to get you some trousers Ronald, it’s poking me in the hip. I think it is searching for a way back inside. Perhaps it’s scared. Can you try real hard to control it, please?"

"What do ya want me to do? Cut it off?" As frustrated as she must be with his problem, he was even more so. "I didn’t ask for this!"

Eric poked his head back in and whistled. “Sorry tae bust up tha lover’s spat, but we’re clear again. Ronnie, need sum help? We’ve gotta move.”

Ronald pulled away from Moira, shooting her a hurt look before struggling to his feet on his own. “I’m fine. Get me outta this fuckin’ rape-hole.”

Eric grimaced, his gaze flicking between the two of them silently. “A’right, jus’ keep close tae me. Wi’ any luck we’ll find yer scythes an’ we can make our way tae meet back up wi’ Spears. I jus’ hope Alan’s a’right. Good news is I think I got ye some pants.”

His gaze flicked to Moira again, and Ronald’s words and resentful look at her had horrible implications to him. He could sense her age, and his mind went to dark places.

"An’ lady, I dunno anythin’ that happened here, but Knox isn’t tha sort tae let his rutting urges get in tha way. He’s fooked in tha head righ’ now an’ clearly on somethin’, so keep yer jibes quiet, an’ keep yer bossy mouth shut."

Eric glared at her, visualizing things he wished he could choke off. He was just as angry with himself for not pushing this investigation sooner. Ronald was clearly under the influence of some aphrodisiac, and from where he was standing, this lovely temptress must have taken advantage of him. He glared directly at her, hearing his pulse as the anger rose.

"Ye’ve had yer feast o’ babes. Smack him down again and we’ll leave ya here."

"Eric, it wasn’t like that," Ron protested weakly.

"Yeah, yer too drugged tae walk an’ ye’ve got a boner," said the Scotsman with another suspicious glare at Moira. "I’ve seen it b’fore, Ronnie. Wouldn’t be tha first time… fuck, let’s just get outta hear. Moira, keep your bloody hands off him."

Irked and damn right insulted by the newcomer’s insinuation, Moira walked up to Eric and slapped him clear across the face. Then she proceeded to verbally reprimand him.

"How dare you. You don’t even know me and you suggest such a thing."

Her eyes narrowed and if looks could kill, Eric Slingby would have been reduced to dust.

"I’d never hurt the man I have completely and utterly fallen in love with. You want someone to blame for his condition…then get yer head out of yer ass and help me find the two ancients that did this to him…to us. You bloody, sodding, drunken, no knicker, kilt wearing Scot."

Huffing, she turned from the dastardly, insulting blond. Moira, began marching down the corridor, unaware that part of her robe had been caught up in the belt, tied snuggly around her waist. One soft, creamy-white butt cheek was now on display and it bounced subtly as she walked ahead of the two insufferable males behind her.

Eric stared after her stupidly for a moment, and then he shook himself out of it.

"She gets one…jus’ one free hit. Tha’ was it. She does tha’ again an’ I’ll lay her out like—"

"She didn’t rape me," Ron coughed. He reached out for the retreating figure of his lover desperately. "Moira, wait! He’s just out of th’ loop! He didn’t mean it—"

"Like hell I din’t!" snapped Eric angrily. "Tha’ woman’s been puttin’ ya down since I arrived, Knox! Snap ou’ of it! Let tha bruised wench seek her pleasures elsewhere, now tha’ she’s had her fill of ye."

"That’s not how it happened!" insisted Ronald, and he went stumbling after Moira, ignoring the fact that he still had no pants. "Moira! He didn’t meant it! He just doesn’t understand!"

"Oh, fer fook’s sake," groaned Eric, charging on ahead of his two rescues. Obviously there was something more involved than he’d suspected, but they were both likely to get themselves killed, injured or worse.

Tears were in her eyes when she paused in her stride and turned to face Ronald. She said nothing to the Scotsman as he walked past them and she reached up to wipe the tear that was slowly creeping out of the corner of her eye.

"He thinks I took advantage of you." She pointed at Eric’s back. Her voice elevated slightly from the hurt she was feeling inside. She didn’t care if he heard her or not, but she was not going to hold back regardless.

"I couldn’t even enjoy being with you. And the fact it was either let them watch me perform with you, whom I love. Or let them tie me down and force that demon to impregnate me with its spawn, while they forced you to watch it all take place. I want to scream. My own kind. My brothers did this to us."

She shook as the emotions came pouring out of her. Hurt, pain, confusion and anger. It all came spilling out of her like a rolling thunderstorm.

"I want to rot their flesh from their bones."

Ronald embraced her, and he looked up at Eric as he stopped before them. He could not quell his anger.

"She didn’t ask for this, anymore than I did! Eric, if you insult her a-again, I’ll have t’ kick y-your ass!"

Eric’s scowl softened. “We’ll see, Ronnie. In tha meantime, both o’ ya let me protect ya. Let’s go.”

Eric nodded further down the hallway, keeping his scythe ready. His personal feelings weren’t a part of this.

"I can’t lose you," she whispered as she broke down and cried in Ronald’s arms.

He stroked her hair and tried to calm her. “Ya won’t, Moira. D-don’t worry. Eric’s just jumping to the wrong c-conclusions, but I’ll explain it all to him when we’re outta here. If anyone violated anyone here, it was m-me violating you. I…I’m sorry.”

Carefully, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. Now was not the time for tears and so she cleared her throat, took his hand and said, “We need to get going. Yes, all can be explained later. Lets find some clothes and our scythes. We need to find Grell and get out of here.

 

* * *

 

Alan had already dispatched two human guards without doing more harm to them than a bump on the head. He kept close to the wall, cloaked from mortal sight, and he took out every camera he found on the way. He wondered if the mortals working in this place even knew what the cameras were, considering the devices were nearly a century ahead of their time. His companions had gone separate ways, in order to cover more ground. He wasn’t really comfortable with splitting up, but they’d set their phones up to page each other if they ran into trouble, and he knew which direction to go if he needed to find either of them.

He started to turn down another corridor, but then he heard a whimper from behind one of the cell doors he passed. It sounded like a child. Alan paused and peeked in through the tiny observation window, curious. When he saw the boy curled up against the wall, his eyes widened.

"Earl Phantomhive?"

He then sensed the presence of a demon again, and he began to understand. What better way to control a demon than to keep its master and intended meal hostage? Keeping his death scythe at ready, Alan followed his senses to the source of the demonic aura, a few doors down from where Ciel was being kept. He looked left and right before cutting through the lock on it and pushing it open. Peering in cautiously, he found Sebastian Michaelis pacing inside a glowing red cage.

"Reaper…" Sebastian growled as he stopped his pacing and turned to eye the tiny brunet who now stood just beyond his reach. "What is it that you want from me…now?"

Alan placed a hand against his chest. “Me? I honestly want nothing from you, Mr. Michaelis. I am curious as to how you and your master came to be here, though. I’m here investigating these facilities with other Dispatch officers, and we’ve heard some disturbing reports.”

He watched the demon warily, keeping well out of reach of the cage. He had never fought Sebastian before himself, but he’d heard accounts from both William and Grell concerning his prowess in battle. Not that he lacked faith in his own abilities, but he was not a reckless sort of reaper. He chose not to inform Sebastian of the carnage they’d seen on their way in, wondering if perhaps he was responsible for it. Maybe Doctor Wundt had kidnapped his master and Sebastian got himself caught attempting to rescue him?

"Your kind, reapers…" said a voice appearing behind bruent as a hand reached out to touch his shoulder.

Behind Alan stood a shadowy figure with two brightly glowing red eyes. The strong scent of sulfur filled the small chamber. The demon within the cage was now gone, having manifested behind the small agent.

"I am afraid your investigation will be cut short, reaper," Sebastian snarled as a set of butter knives appeared in his hand. "I have strict orders to protect this facility and protect it I shall. My young Master’s very life depends on it."

Alan gasped and dove away, rolling backwards and coming to his feet with his scythe at the ready.

"I intended to take your master out of here," he explained, "but if you insist on hindering me against your own best interests, I’m prepared to defend myself. My companions are searching other parts of this facility, and we have every intention of dealing with the corruption here. You’d serve your master better by assisting us than by fighting us."

Covertly, he inched one hand toward his pocket, where his phone was located. He had no idea whether his fellow Dispatch officers had run into opposition or not, so activating the pager might avail him nothing. Still, Spears had made it clear that they were to alert one another immediately, if they faced any serious opposition. He could think of few things more serious than a starving demon.

"I would rather free Earl Phantomhive and teleport him to safety than fight you, Mr. Michaelis," he tried to reason.

Sebastian’s lips curled up into a wicked smile and he tilted his head to the side as he took in the brunet’s words. He eyed the Dispatch agent speculatively.

"Tempting, but you see, your fellow reapers have me on a rather short leash and I am afraid there is no way for either of us to enter my master’s prison…his own personal torture chamber. And as it was in helping one of your kind that got us into this predicament, I am rather inclined to say no to your proposal."

Sebastian laughed darkly before warning the brunet. “I would advise you to remove your hand from your pocket. Calling your companions will do you no favors. I would have your records before you could hit even one button on that device your kind calls a phone.”

Alan thought quickly, being in favor of a resolution that wouldn’t involve bloodshed. He was usually quite confident in his fighting abilities, but the things he’d seen on his way down here made him wonder if his skills would be enough. Believing Sebastian to be the one responsible for all the bodies strewn throughout the facility, he wondered why he hadn’t cut down the ones responsible for Ciel’s predicament himself, by now. He presumed that Wundt was at least partly responsible for this, but he had no idea who else might be involved.

"I don’t understand," he said honestly, forgoing the idea of contacting the others for the moment. "Which reaper were you helping? Did Wundt order you to slay his own staff? Why would you not go directly after the one who did this, if you have that kind of power?"

Sebastian chuckled and stepped forward as his body began to take on its normal appearance.

"Aren’t you aware, little one? It was your former colleague’s fault I was dragged into this. He made a deal with my master, who sent me to assist in the rescue of a certain annoying redhead."

Patiently, Sebastian watched the brunet’s face as the information slowly began to sink in.

"That’s right, Grell. I was captured in a demon trap by an ancient who had captured that infuriating excuse for a reaper, and then I found myself here." He motioned to the room they were residing in at the moment. "My master as well. The screams were torn from his lips as they tortured him and I was unable to fulfill aspects of my contract to him, which in turn has tortured me subsequently."

"Well, you’ll do your master little good opposing us," insisted Alan. "We are here to correct the situation, as I said. Wundt will face justice for his corrupt ways, and Grell…well; I’m not certain what will happen with him. We still have to find him. I haven’t any idea who this ancient you’re speaking of is. An ally of Wundt’s? Was it you that killed all of those guards and staff members, or someone else?"

He kept his senses on total alert, well-aware now that the butler was capable of changing locations in the blink of an eye. He refused to make the first aggressive move, however. His partner’s first reaction to a threat was usually violence, but Alan wasn’t made that way. He had no compassion for the demon, but he did understand his frustration…and there was a child’s safety to consider.

"And what if I told you the leash I have been chained to prevents me from doing anything other than protecting this facility? As for the rising count of the dead within these walls… I wish I could take credit, but as they are a part of this facility, they are under my protection," Sebastian smiled as he side stepped closer to the brunet. And in one swift move, he was next to his prey. A single blade sat at the brunet’s throat.

"The one slaughtering…is the one searching for his mate. He will stop at nothing till he has…" Sebastian lowered his voice and growled, "Grell."

There was one part of Eric’s training of him when he was still green that Alan did agree with in a seemingly hopeless moment such as this: “When in doubt, flee.”

The entire time they’d been conversing, the small brunet had formed a contingency plan. While stalling the demon, part of his concentration was dedicated to a simple, less potent form of reaper teleportation. Thank Styx he’d done so too, because he could feel the chill of death emanating from the knife that Michaelis now pressed against his throat.

"Then it seems I can’t help you," he offered regretfully, "and I’m sorry for that."

Then Alan pulled a vanishing act of his own. He was there one moment and gone the next—having self-teleported not to the Shinigami realm, which would have required an inter-planar portal—but to a spot directly outside the front of the facility, safely out of the reach of the butler’s deadly weapon. He gave a sigh of relief and reached up to touch his throat where Sebastian’s borrowed reaper weapon had been resting, finding a spot of blood where it had scratched him. He would have surely slit his throat, if he hadn’t come up with this escape plan.

Alan quickly retrieved his phone—still wondering how on earth the demon knew he’d been about to signal his companions—and he dialed Eric’s number, though he probably should have tried to reach the boss, first. It was just his first instinct to call his partner. It took a few rings for the Scotsman to pick up.

"I’m a bit busy!"

"Eric, listen to me," Alan said urgently, "The demon we sensed inside is Sebastian Michaelis. Wundt and whomever he’s working with have the Phantomhive boy locked away in the wing I inspected, and his butler has been put under constraints forcing him to guard the place."

"Ya shittin’ me?" grunted Eric. "Where’s he at now?"

"I don’t know," replied Alan, still shaken from the experience. "I…ran away. He’s probably still in there where I left him. Eric, he’s got a scythe, and he can’t be reasoned with. He nearly cut my throat. I’ve teleported outside the building. I think I’d be dead now, if I hadn’t."

Eric growled, predictably angry at the thought of someone nearly killing Alan. “Son of a… tha’s all we need.”

"Well, things never seem to go easy for us, do they?" Alan managed a smirk. "Where are you at? I’ll come in and join you."

"I’m down tha’ middle wing underground," answered the Scotsman. "I’m with Knox and his… lady friend. We jus’ found their scythes an’ Grell’s, and we’re heading tha direction Spears went to meet up wi’ him. Al, dinnae come back in here, understand? Tha demon’s go’ a taste for ye now an’ he’ll prolly try tae track ya down. Get yer little arse outta here and go tae Headquarters. Tell ‘em wha’s going on in here an’ bring reinforcements, if ya can. Dun’ even risk ano’er encounter wi’ that demon alone, got it?"

"But—"

"No buts! Jus’ do it. I’ll report tae tha boss when we find him an’ let him know. Get goin’ before tha’ butler sniffs ya out again."

Alan sighed, “Okay. Please, be careful. I’ll try to contact you again when I find out what the board intends to do about this. I only hope Will doesn’t get into trouble for orchestrating this investigation without official approval.”

"One thing at a time," huffed Eric. "Righ’ now, I just want tae get us all ou’ of here alive."

"Don’t do anything too rash," cautioned Alan. "Take care."

He hung up the phone and put it away, quickly forming a portal back to his home realm. He glanced back at the facility one last time. All of the reapers he cared for the most were in there now…as well as the Undertaker, apparently. How had the old mortician managed to freeze his victims like that? There was so much about the man that was shrouded in mystery. Feeling a bit cowardly for leaving, Alan took his partner’s advice and stepped through the portal back to Shinigami London. 

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	21. Chapter 21

"I am ready. What about you Ronald?" Moira asked as she tucked the last bit of her borrowed shirt into her borrowed trousers.

The trio was in a storage locker where their scythes had been locked away. Thanks to Eric’s scythe, they were able to break the lock and remove them. Once more, Moira had Grell’s chainsaw and Ronald had his infamous lawnmower.

Inside the locker they found clean uniforms for guards and other staff members. Moira had tossed a guard’s uniform to Ronald and found a smaller orderly uniform for herself. Though the shirt was a tad longer than she would have liked, it was still clothing and she could tuck—which she ended up doing. Unfortunately, their shoes were not there and there were no spares for the facility workers. They would have to continue on, barefoot.

Moira was standing near the doorway when the foul scent of sulfur permeated the locker. A black shadow began to form between herself and her two companions. Separated from her lover, Moira stood wide-eyed and mouth open as the demon that had attacked them at the train station appeared before her eyes. She was now cut off from the two blonds. Instincts kicking in, she summoned her scythe, but the demon’s back was to her; and she wondered if he was even aware she was behind him. Should she strike?

"I would not think of such a brazen move, my dear. I would not let you get one blow in and you must consider your dear Grell. Lover… or Grandchild?" Sebastian smirked, not turning his head to look at her.

Moira blinked, had he read her thoughts? Her eyes wandered past the dark devil and met Ronald’s. _~Ronnie?~_

Ronald grabbed Eric’s arm and nodded at the threat, unable to formulate words at first. His eyes met Moira’s, and a grim resolve came over him. “Go find Grell,” he urged her. “Go, Moira!”

Eric eyed the demon, his gaze flicking quickly over him. “Right… We’ll handle this. Cannae be all tha’ tough, if he managed tae get himself an’ his master caught.”

To Ronnie, he muttered, “Jus’ watch it…Al ran into him earlier an’ he’s go’ a scythe on him somewhere.”

"Yeah, I kn-know," gritted out the younger blond. "He killed Undertaker with it…right in front of us."

Eric stared at Ronald, then at Sebastian. “Yer shittin’ me.”

Ronald shook his head, having no memory of Undertaker surviving the attack and no idea that he was in that very building with them. “Wish I was. Go, Moira!”

"Wait, Ronnie—!"

The younger blond had already started his charge, determined to keep the demon’s attention away from his lover and give her a chance to get away. Eric swore vilely and pulled a similar stunt to the one Alan had used to escape the building, earlier. He teleported behind Sebastian while Ronald attacked from the front. The demon dodged Ron’s attack and blocked Eric’s with the scythe Alan had mentioned…but at least he was now fully occupied with them.

Moira started to rush forward to help, but something in the back of her mind urged her not to. She glanced once more at Ronald before turning and dashing from the room. With her scythe at the ready, she took off running as fast as she could down the corridor. She focused on Grell and where she was. Her attention was interrupted by an oncoming reaper as she approached an intersection of hallways.

She stopped dead in her tracks and closed her eyes. She used an ancient talent given to her alone, one she had not used in over ten thousand mortal years; it was an ability she wasn’t sure she was still capable of. Slowly, she began to separate herself into three beings, much like the way her voice had split into three separate voices when she sung. Her body was now three as she stood stock still before the young reaper in front of her. Her eyes, all three pairs, flashed open as she sensed another reaper approaching from behind. She would have to take care of these two before proceeding, but they were young and ill prepared to deal with an ancient like herself.

 

* * *

 

"Khronos, are you certain you know where we’re going?" Anderson looked around dubiously, seeing fewer and fewer cell doors and branching hallways. "I fear this area may be empty."

He also feared they were being watched—but his companion had put all of the electronic monitoring equipment into a stasis loop with his abilities…or so he’d claimed. Khronos’ determined footsteps didn’t slow or stop. If anything, they picked up speed.

"She’s this way," he whispered with confidence. "We’re very close, now."

He stopped so suddenly that the other ancient nearly ran into his back. Khronos glanced at him, eyes ablaze with power, vengeance and purpose. “She’s your blood. Can’t you feel her?”

"Not as strongly as you, apparently," sighed Lawrence.

Khronos nodded, accepting the reply. He looked at the reinforced door across from them and his scythe flashed in the dim light, moaning through the air. It cut into the door from top to bottom, on the side where the locking bar met with the frame. Once he’d sheered it with the precision of a surgeon slicing open a patient, Khronos gave the door a shove that sent it swinging open. He stepped inside and he immediately stopped again when he found the pitiful figure strapped to some medieval torture device in the center of the room. His eyes went wide as he took in the probes digging into the pale, hunched over back, the wires connecting them to the machine and the fall of red hair spilling from the victim’s bowed head.

The silver reaper’s mouth opened and closed silently, his vision blurring with helpless rage and guilt as he hurried to his lover.

"Grell," he mouthed, unable to force even so much as a whisper past his numb lips.

"Dear gods," murmured Lawrence, equally shocked. He followed behind Khronos on legs that felt numb.

_~I’ll get you out of this contraption, love,~_ thought Khronos frantically, but his hands were steady as he gently ran his fingers over the probes and forced himself to think. He could slice through these wires like butter, but they might send a residual shock through Grell from the machine.

"Here," announced Lawrence, "I’ve found the power cord."

He went to pull it from the wall to ensure the machine couldn’t cause more harm to Grell than it already had. Both ancients were sufficiently distracted enough that they didn’t immediately notice the enemy reapers manifesting in the room with them. Lawrence did, once he pulled the plug. He saw a scythe in the form of a long-poled sickle coming down straight at Khronos’ back and he yelled a warning, drawing his own scythe with the intent to intervene. He wasn’t close enough…but another scythe shot out from the direction of the open doorway, the pole extending to impossible lengths to block the one that was aimed at the Undertaker.

Lawrence’s eyes followed the quivering pole to find its owner, and he was rather surprised to find William T. Spears standing at the other end of it.

William’s eyes wandered over the scene laid out before him. They widened as the redhead’s bound body came into focus. He swallowed the gasp that nearly escaped and in a fit of disgust, he knocked the encroaching reaper’s scythe back. Demanding to know what was going on, he raised his hand and hollered, “I must insist that everyone freeze and stay where you are. By order of the Reaper Dispatch Association, cease and desist in your actions.”

The order fell on deaf ears as Holden—the goon who’s scythe William deflected—growled and turned as he spun, swinging his scythe to come down on top of the Dispatch manager. Seeing the brisk movement from the corner of his eye, William ducked and rolled out of the way.  The scythe struck ground. Sparks flew all around it, the metal blade grinding into the stone floor.

"Get Grell out of here," Will shouted as he pulled the trigger on his scythe once more, the sound of the pole whizzing through the air as he launched it at Wundt’s goon.

Two more reapers appeared, and Lawrence engaged them, fighting at William’s side as Khronos worked to free Grell’s unconscious form.

"I’m afraid that would be easier said than done, Mr. Spears," he huffed as he fended off one attacker and blocked another from reaching the silver reaper. "The doctor running this facility has been performing illegal experiments on reapers, mortals and demons. You need only look to Miss Sutcliff for your proof of that."

Unable to add his own commentary to the discussion, Khronos carefully eased another probe out of Grell’s back. He was only half-finished, and as he looked up to see how the others were fairing, he realized they could easily get overwhelmed. With a little snarl, he manipulated time around both of Lawrence’s opponents to put them in a stasis, and the mustached ancient stopped just before he would have landed a blow and disrupted it. Khronos nodded at his friend when Lawrence looked at him, and the other ancient concentrated on helping William finish off the other goon.

_~Just a bit more, and you’ll be free,~_ promised Khronos silently to the tortured redhead he was trying to rescue. Right now, he didn’t even care about striking Hypnos or Thanatos down. He just wanted to get Grell to safety, and then he could concentrate on revenge. He had a bone to pick with a certain demon butler, as well.

"What the Hell?" William mumbled as he lay witness to the enemy reapers coming to a stand still. They were in mid movement. Will was in such a state of shock by what he was seeing, he hadn’t even realized that Lawrence’s scythe had pierced the reaper about to overtake him. It was like the corridor and the entryway. The dead mortals and the dead reapers suspended in time.

He looked over at the Undertaker. “You did this?”

William knew the Undertaker was a legend and an ancient, but he was taken by surprise when it came to his abilities. He was unaware of what powers he possessed. Then turning to Anderson, he asked, “Were you aware of his abilities?”

"I think we have more pressing concerns at the moment, but yes," answered Lawrence as his remaining opponent fell. "Please do not touch the reapers that are suspended, William…except to reap them, of course. Khronos has halted them in time and a cut from his scythe will do the same, but he must conserve his strength."

Anderson looked the young Dispatch supervisor up and down, and his eyes smiled at him as he spoke again. “Good of you to come, by the way.”

"As it would seem," William replied as he looked back over at Grell. "What in the devil is that thing he has Sutcliff attached to, and is Grell, is he alright?"

Clicking noises sounded as Will’s scythe retracted and he carefully stepped around the suspended bodies. A tiny moan caught his ear as Grell, barely conscious cried in pain as another needle was removed from his spine. The leather straps were still in place to prevent the redhead from moving. It was clearly not the most pleasant feeling as each probe was removed. Will cringed as he watched Grell’s abused body jerk.

"Where is Wundt?" William finally inquired, turning his attention back to the eyewear maker.

Anderson looked around, eyes narrowed. “I’ve no bloody idea, but I’m willing to wager he’s still somewhere in this facility. Thus far, every move he’s made seems to have been focused on getting Grell into his custody. He is obsessed with her, and he isn’t who he appears to be. I have yet to see the man make an appearance himself, but he has a powerful influence on those he interacts with.” It didn’t even occur to him that William was not yet aware of the alterations Thanatos had done to change Grell’s gender.

Anderson nodded at the two frozen reapers, still caught in mid-swing of their last actions. “Because of that, I would prefer not to kill any of his underlings, if possible. He has powers of manipulation that most can’t fathom, Spears. It’s quite possible that a good number of the reapers Undertaker cut down on his way in were not acting of their own free will—which is why I suspect he halted their chronological flow. Dispatch can review their records and deem whether they should be saved, once this is over with. So long as they are in stasis, they won’t appear on the death lists.”

He looked over at the body of the reaper he’d just finished off earlier. He’d gathered the records, but the man’s name would still show up on the death list.

"Though I daresay Dispatch must be aware by now that at least one death has occurred in this place. Beware of Wundt’s allies, William. He is an ancient, and he has an ancient working with him as well. In addition to that, he managed to procure the service of a demon—that managed to mortally injure the Undertaker and helped Wundt’s people take Grell again."

"Speaking of ancient’s, Anderson, where is your sister?" inquired Will. His right brow slowly rose in question. "I had the pleasure of meeting her two days ago as she stormed my office with Mister Knox in tow. She is quite forceful when wishes to be. I take it she is not the ancient you speak of, that is working with Wundt? Or I would hope she is not. However, I know of no other ancients currently alive that could aid Wundt in whatever it is he is after."

Will once again glanced over at the redhead. “I should have listened three years ago. I daresay this is partially my fault that he is in this predicament. I could not believe that such a distinguished Doctor would be up to such nefarious practices.”

"As I said; he is a very persuasive reaper," muttered Lawrence. "As for my sister, I know she’s in here somewhere…close. I would like to find her, but I know she’d rather we look after Grell first. I must trust in her ability to survive until we can reach her."

It pained him to leave his sibling un-rescued…more than he could even try to describe. Atropos was no meek lamb, though. All of them had lost pieces of themselves—at least, those that adhered to the limits set down upon them. Hypnos and Thanatos had not, though. He had to believe his sister could endure and survive, until such time as he could reach her.

"Ronald Knox was with her when she was captured," he finally offered. "I can only hope they are both alive and relatively in one piece."

Engrossed in Grell, Undertaker hardly heard their conversation. He tried to speak to her, but it only came out as a breathy whisper as he cupped her chin and helped her lift her head. “Grell, darlin’…I’m here. Please look at me.”

Grell’s lashes fluttered as his eyes languidly opened. The mortician’s face slowly came into focus.

"Khronos?" He whispered. Was it really his lover’s face he was seeing or was it an illusion? He was terribly weak and tired. He hadn’t even been able to feel the straps as they came loose from around his battered body or his hands as they were freed.

"I’ve finally died?" He asked as he tried to speak once more.

The ancient shook his head and smiled, though the expression lacked its usual enthusiasm due to the circumstances surrounding them.

"You’re alive, darlin’," he whispered as loudly as he could. "And so am I. The raven’s attack didn’t kill me like they thought, but it took a while for me to recover from it."

He held her close and nuzzled her tangled red hair. “Forgive an old fool for failing to protect you, and for takin’ so long to come for you.”

The sound of slow clapping from outside the room, in the corridor, began to fill the chamber.

"This is all very touching," said Dr. Wundt, "but I’m afraid your little reunion will avail you nothing."

Anderson turned and tried to charge their enemy when he realized what Hypnos was about to do. He wasn’t fast enough, and he slammed into the smoky warding barrier that Hypnos created. He scowled at the grinning ancient, his fingers tightening around the handle of his scythe. Wundt was in the company of three more of his reaper minions, and he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned.

"You’ve gone too far, Hypnos," warned Lawrence.

"Oh, have I? I beg to differ." His eyes flashed behind the square lenses of his glasses, his smile vanishing into an expression of menace. "I think I haven’t gone quite far enough, ‘Father Anderson’. What a pathetic thing you’ve become…so meek and uncertain of yourself. Your barbs lack potency, as do your threats."

His gaze strayed to Khronos, who was glaring at him from beneath his silver bangs. The mortician held Grell tighter in his protective embrace.

"Him, on the other hand," Hypnos went on, "could prove to be a real threat. I must admit that I’m quite impressed, Khronos. I’d thought you too far gone to challenge me, regardless of what the reapers at Dispatch say about you. Your attack on this facility has cost me, but I’m not finished, yet. Thank you for coming and providing me with more subjects—you in particular. I was regretful to have you killed, but I couldn’t imagine you being very controllable."

"Can’t even control myself, chap," whispered the mortician.

Wundt put a hand to his ear. “What was that? Oh dear, it seems the demon at least managed to take away that annoying voice of yours. I may forgo his punishment for failing to kill you, on account of that.”

William’s eyebrow twitched with annoyance. This reaper, this Doctor he had accompanied so many times and defended, what a fool he had been. He now realized how he had been taken advantage of.

"Doctor Wundt, stop this at once. I realize you have a great power and I was fool to have not seen it before, but I ask that you end this madness this instant. You are taking liberties that go against our laws. I must know what your purpose is to abuse patients in such hideous ways? You are behaving no better than the monsters that disrupt our purpose. Desist now and lay down your scythes," ordered William.

He adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes on the once regaled Doctor of reaper psychology. His fist began to tighten around the handle of his own scythe. He could see it now, the ancient was not going to obey. He was going to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. But what was it he wanted?

"The Book of the Dead." Grell murmured as he rested his head against his lover’s chest.

Undertaker felt a chill go through him, though he and Lawrence had already suspected that to be Hypnos’ goal. But what made the man think a youngling like Grell had any knowledge of its whereabouts?

"Yes, the Book of the Dead," agreed Wundt, his eyes straying to Grell. Seeing the unwholesome way he was looking at her prompted Undertaker to ease her down and remove his hooded robe, covering her protectively with it before embracing her again.

"Tell me, where might I find the lost pieces?" Hypnos went on. "I might be inclined to let you all go, if you share that information with me."

"I don’t think anyone in this room is foolish enough to believe such an offer will be honored," remarked Lawrence. "And none of us currently know the whereabouts of those pages, anyhow."

"I don’t quite believe you," said Wundt insistently. "Perhaps a demonstration of what your refusal to cooperate will buy for you is in order."

Undertaker grinned in a feral manner. “Give it your best try,” he challenged; his voice barely a whisper of sound. “You’ll have to come in here to manage it though, and I doubt you’ve got the stones for it.”

"Such schoolyard insults," sighed Hypnos, "but I’ve come to expect as much from you. I think I’ll begin with you, old madman. But why should I strain myself battling you when I have others so eager to do it for me?"

"Would you like to change your tune, Hypnos?"

As the three reapers under Hypnos command began their advancement, the sweet sounding voice of another emanated behind the Doctor. Moira stood poised behind the evil ancient. Her scythe’s pole extended out, much the way William’s was capable of. The pinchers sat at the base of Wundt’s neck, her finger at the ready. One false move or something she did not agree with and his head would come flying off.

"Need I remind you of what I am capable of? Call off your lackeys now, Hypnos, or I will pull the trigger," demanded the raven-haired goddess.

Her eyes dared to glance around the room, first falling on her brother and then the Dispatch manager. Lastly they came to Grell and Khronos. She nearly choked when she saw the pale face of her great grandchild. To hide her anguish, she allowed her anger to surface and nudged Hypnos with her scythe before making a suggestion.

"Gentleman, perhaps we should show the same courtesies to Hypnos here as he has shown to Grell. After all, ‘an eye for an eye’. Isn’t that what the mortals say? You really disgust me, ‘brother’." Moira snarled, her lip curling as she spoke.

"I would not be so quick to presume victory," warned the villainous ancient, eyes flicking to something behind her.

The cold, hard, hilt of a scythe flashed in the darkness behind the raven-haired ancient, making no sound at all, the owner brought the hilt down at the base of her neck, just above the shoulders. Moira’s face paled with surprise as her hands went limp, dropping her scythe to the ground at Wundt’s feet. Her body following with a hard thud. She didn’t lose consciousness, but before she could turn to her attacker, he was gone.

"Thanatos…" She gasped.

"Who’s next?" Thanatos’ voice rumbled throughout the room.

Another bright flash of light reflected off his scythe as he swung it low before Lawrence. The back side of his menacing, skull adorned battle ax met with the backside of the eye-ware department head’s ankles, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Thanatos’ laugh grew louder as he watched his brethren fall hard to the stone floor. Jumping to action, William pulled the trigger on his clippers, the pole extending with lightening speed. But just as his scythe was to make contact, Thanatos vanished. The supervisor swore as the ancient dissolved into nothingness right before his eyes.

Khronos could not speak loudly enough to command Will to guard Grell, so he caught hold of the younger reaper’s arm and nodded at the shivering form in his arms. Drawing his scythe, he straightened up and listened to his senses as William hastened to Grell’s side. His eyes flashed as he sensed something behind him, and he twirled around and swept his scythe through the air, while at the same time creating a localized time stasis where he felt Thanatos manifesting.

While he was doing that, he heard familiar shouts outside in the corridor.

"This way! Hurry!"

"Wha’ th’ hell d’ ya think I’m doin’, Knox? Shadow-boxing?"

Hypnos’ grin faded as he saw the two blonds running down the hall toward him, the smaller one—whom he’d planned to use as a stud for Moira—was in the lead and he bore a look of fury on his bloodied young face. He’d seen Moira’s crumpled form. The recklessness apparent in his eyes made Hypnos smile. He had a trick to pull with this one. He’d done just enough work on him to pull his strings.

"I’m not the one you wish to attack, Mr. Knox," he informed the green one. "Try your companion, instead. Blitzkrieg."

Ronald suddenly turned on Eric with blank, wide eyes and nearly mowed him down. The Scotsman hopped out of the way at the last minute with a surprised yell.

"Ronnie, wha’ tha hell?"

Undertaker finished his sweep just as Thanatos re-materialized—but the stasis field got interrupted by his teleportation, and the silver ancient found himself ducking just in time to avoid his opponent’s counter-strike. Grinning, he kicked out while Thanatos was recovering from the swing, hitting him in the stomach.

"Too slow, chap," he rasped.

"Khronos, he won’t fall for the same tricks twice," warned Anderson in a pained voice, trying to drag himself to his feet. "Be careful!"

Two more portals opened behind William. He felt the air shift just as Wundt’s other two goons emerged. He knew them from the visits they had paid Grell over the past three years. Quickly he swiveled around to face them, his arm around Grell’s waist, holding him tightly. He brought up his scythe and blocked their synchronized strikes. Sparks flew as metal grinded against metal.

"Honestly?!" He growled.

Moira pushed herself up just as a hand grabbed her by the hair. She reached up with one hand, attempting to pry the fingers away. She gazed down at her scythe and she stretched out her free arm. It was just out of reach. She grunted as she tried to pull forward, the fingers of her free hand wiggling desperately to get a hold of it.

"Knox, cut it ou’!" Shouted Eric as he dived away from the wall—barely in time to avoid getting his face shredded to bits by the mower that Ronald was again trying to bum-rush him with. "They’ve done somethin’ tae yeh! Snap out o’ it!"

His struggle took him closer to the woman and the man who seemed to be behind it all, and he noticed her reaching for her scythe. With a huff, Eric dove, rolled and came to his feet, kicking it toward her.

"Ronnie, yer girl’s abou’ tae get scythed! Fer tha love o’ death, pull yer head outta yer arse!"

Khronos took a glancing blow to his shoulder as Thanatos teleported all around him. He couldn’t spare the concentration to try and assist Spears. Trusting the man to hold his own for a bit, he came up with an idea. Thanatos was onto his stasis tricks, but there was one thing he had yet to do with his abilities in this struggle…something he’d never needed to do before. Grell’s life was at stake though, and so were the others. Lawrence was dragging himself to the barrier blocking the room from the hallway, evidently intending to try and bring it down to help his sister. There was no telling whether he would succeed in time.

But who said he had to use his chronological alterations only on his opponents? Undertaker met Thanatos’ eyes and he shrugged. “Right, then.”

He turned his ability inwards, speeding up his own “clock”, rather than attempting to slow his opponent’s. Suddenly, his movements were coming at lightning speed, the world around him moving sluggishly as he sped himself through the moments and caught every move Thanatos made before it could be delivered.

Realizing what the former reaper-turned-Undertaker was up to, Thanatos flashed him a smile before dematerializing once more. In phantom form, he began to taunt his nemesis. Like a ghost wind he brushed the Undertaker’s cheek with his invisible fingers and tugged his long, silver mane.

"Would you like to run that scythe of yours into my body, Khronos? Watch my ancient reels spill?" He whispered, passing once more by the mortician’s ear. "What if I took Grell’s first? I can barely stand the obsession my brother has with him. If not for the book we seek, she would have been discarded years ago."

Behind his invisible mask, Thanatos laughed, “That’s right, my old friend and brother. Grell would have been a pile of nothing once we were done using its body for experiment. Would you like to know what kind of experiments we would have loved to conduct on him?”

Moira saw her scythe move closer to her reaching fingers. In a last ditch effort she lunged for it, snatching it up. She spun it around and with the butt of it, rammed it up into Wundt’s rib cage behind her. Feeling him let go of her hair, she rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet.

"Ronald?!" She yelled seeing the blond aggressively attacking the other blond. His lawnmower roaring through the air, "Ronald, stop!"

Her words cut through the fog in his mind, aided by the break of the mad doctor’s tenuous hold on his mind. Ronald stumbled and put a hand to his forehead, confused. “Wha—ho, shit!”

He ducked as Eric’s scythe came at him, breaking a large chunk off the wall where he’d been standing. “Eric… chill!”

The Scotsman stopped in mid-swing of his next attack, looking down at him warily. “Ronnie? Ya back, now?”

"Never knew I…" he coughed into his hand. "…went anywhere!"

Ronald turned his head to see his lover staring at him, standing beside Hippo. Her hair was tangled and she had a fierce, worried look in her lovely eyes. “M-Moira? You okay?”

"Ya flipped on me," accused Eric before the woman could answer, "turned an’ tried tae mow me down all tha sudden."

"No way," protested Ronald. "I w-wouldn’t do that!"

They heard the fracas going on in the room blocked off by the barrier, and Eric helped Ronald to his feet. “Come on…worry ‘bout tha’ later!”

As the taller blond half-dragged his companion towards the room he, William and Anderson were in with Grell, Undertaker was trying to sort things out with his sudden change of speed. He was already fast to begin with, but altering his own place in the time stream made him so fast that he was actually striking too soon. He was premeditating his attacks to the point where he was making them before his opponent even materialized. Understanding his mistake, he focused inwardly and slowed it down to where he was only half as many steps ahead of everything around him.

_~There. I see you now, you rank codpiece.~_

He saw his chance and he took it, twirling around in a corkscrew motion with his scythe as Thanatos’ re-appeared and stared with surprise at the flash of the blade swinging down on the spot where his torso met his throat.

At that moment, Lawrence banished the barrier holding them prisoner in the room. “Moira?”

Behind him, William had wounded one of his opponents and was still fighting off the other one.

Holden watched as his companion was tossed backwards, away from the manager and the redhead he still held in his arms. He grunted and ferociously lunged forward, using the handle of his scythe he thrust it upwards. The hilt landed square under William’s chin, forcing his head back. The movement caused William’s grip to loosen from around Grell. The redhead began to slip from his grasp, but Holden was there and caught Grell, spinning away with her.

Weak but alert, Grell gasped, stunned by the switch as the goon’s arm slid around his waist. He slammed a fist against Holden’s chest weakly and hollered, “Let me go! William…help!”

Moira had just stepped foot inside the room when she witnessed the redhead fall into the wrong hands. Her eyes enlarged as the reaper holding Grell spun away with her grandchild. Her instincts kicking in, she started to run for them, ignoring everything else going on around her. She summoned Grell’s scythe, remembering she still carried it. She knew the redhead was weak, still it was her scythe and she would know how to wield it if she found the strength to use it.

Halfway across the room, another presence made itself known. Black feathers began to rain down in front of her. She skidded to a stop, the smell of sulfur burning her nose.

"You! No!" Moira exclaimed beneath her breath. She started to back away as the demon took form.

 

* * *

 

Thanatos stared with wide eyes as the blade tip of Khronos’ scythe lodged itself into his flesh. Blood quickly bubbled to the surface and spilled from the wound along with his cinematic records. His battle ax fell from his hand, landing with a clank as it met the facility floor. He slowly sank to his knees as he stared unblinking up at his fellow ancient. Not one swing of his ax had been made. He had taunted one time to many and now the result was this. He was now at the mercy of the reaper he hated most. Now, the power of life and death for him, sat in the very hands of the reaper he was trying to destroy.

Instinctively, he lifted his own hands to the giant blade. He tried with all the strength left within him to remove it from his body, before all his records were collected. He tried to speak, but blood had risen to far up into his throat and crimson liquid began to sputter as he moved his lips.

"That’s one vow kept," whispered Khronos as his enemy fell over, his struggles ending with his life. He yanked the scythe, with Thanatos’ gathered records, out of the now lifeless corpse. If only he’d had the time to savor it, but the chaos around him didn’t allow for such a luxury. He turned to see Grell being dragged off by one of Wundt’s minions. He saw Moira standing before Sebastian Michaelis with her Scythe in one hand and Grell’s in the other. He saw Ronald start to close in on Hypnos with his mower leading the way, while Eric pinned the manipulative villain down with his own before he could recover.

"No," rasped the silver ancient, reaching out with his powers. "That one’s for Grell, lads." It was his lover’s privilege to reap the one who’d done so much to her.

Grell, Eric and Hypnos froze in motion, and Lawrence struggled to his feet and stumbled to his sister’s aid. “Khronos, look after Grell!”

As if he needed to be told. He didn’t pause to see what Spears did. He shot across the room to intercept the thug trying to steal Grell away once more, still under the influence of his potent time alteration on himself. He got behind the retreating reaper, who was backing away with his struggling captive and wasn’t aware of the threat suddenly looming up behind him. Khronos chose his mark and sliced him from the nape of his neck to the crack of his ass.

Grell screamed as the time alteration around his body ceased and the arm holding him went limp. No longer suspended in time, he crashed to the ground on his belly, the wind knocked from him. His blood red hair fell like a veil over his eyes, blocking the view of the melee all around him.

At the same time, Moira felt her brother come up behind her. Sebastian was still approaching, methodically and grinning ear to ear. Not sure if they should go for the kill or spare the leashed creature, Moira whispered to Lawrence. “What do we do with him, the demon? Kill him or allow him to live? His leash should break once Hypnos is dead, but look.”

She dared to take her eyes off of Sebastian to look over at the pinned ancient and the reaper who had found her and Ronald. The teeth of Eric’s scythe pressed just below Hypnos chin against his throat. “Khronos has frozen them.”

Sebastian wasted no time and took advantage of Moira’s foolish choice to look away, her brother’s eyes doing the same. In the bat of a lash he was standing before her, tearing Grell’s scythe from her hand and tossing it to the ground behind him. The chainsaw slid across the floor, sparking as the metal scrapped the surface. It finally came to a grinding halt right in front of Grell’s eyes, just barely missing his crimson head. Breathing heavily, Grell stared at the scythe he had so lovingly altered to his standards.

Moira yelped as her attention was forced back to the Devil butler. He was trying to pry her actual scythe from her other hand.

"Damn it!" She cursed, clinging tightly to it. "Lawrence?!"

Anderson stabbed with his scythe, driving it into Sebastian’s shoulder to try and force him off Moira. Khronos was busy helping Grell back up, and he narrowed his eyes at the demon thoughtfully. Making a silent decision, he began to guide his lover over to the open doorway, where Hypnos still lay in a frozen scene, on the verge of death. He half-carried her, banishing his scythe for the moment to assist her with her own.

"I made you a promise, love," whispered the ancient into Grell’s ear as they stepped into the corridor. Behind them, Lawrence and Moira were still struggling with the demon, and William had joined in now that he had recovered from the attack against him.

"You ought to be the one to end this," finished Khronos, coming to a stop before the enemy and the two frozen reapers that had been on the verge of taking him out. He steadied Grell’s scythe in her shaking hands and he nodded at her encouragingly. "He’s aware. He’s too powerful not to be. If you’d like, though, I can pull one last trick, so you can hear his screams from your scythe alone."

Grell looked from his captor to his lover. His hands were shaking. His body was exhausted. He was covered in dirt and grime. He had been kidnapped, tortured and raped. Though Khronos was there holding him upright, breathing and speaking next to him, it was as if he was nothing more than a ghost. It didn’t feel real. None of this felt real. He glanced around the room and the corridor. So many faces. He knew them all. He could hear the struggle with Sebastian going on behind him. He could see Eric frozen in time with Wundt. He could feel his lover’s strong arm around him. He peered down at his hands and his scythe.

"I can’t," Grell mumbled. "Eric is in the way."

But there was something else. The air, it shifted around them. Grell looked back up at Wundt. The doctor winked his right eye at him, “Khronos, his mind.”

Flashes of light sprang up all around them as portals began to open—a surge of bodies emerging from them. Grell dropped his scythe and clutched his head. A voice began to echo through his mind.

_~Grell, my sweet Erbeere, do you honestly think I would be so easy to destroy? Have you forgotten what my true nature is? Khronos may be able to alter time and prevent me from acting with my body, but he cannot control my mind. Now, my Erbeere, pick up your scythe, turn to your lover and slice him down the middle.~_

"I can’t!" Grell screamed as he dropped to his knees.

William paused in his efforts against Sebastian. One of the emerging bodies was approaching from behind. He turned to intercept its attack. His eyes grew round, realizing they were not reaper or any other supernatural creature. He spun his scythe and swept the legs of the man dressed in a hospital gown. Warning the rest of the group, William shouted, “Mortals! They are mortals! Try not to reap them!”

Anderson was forced to divide his attention between pressing the attack on Sebastian and fending off the clumsy blows of the mortals. He made use of his abilities on some of them, showing them everything they’d been put through by Hypnos and stunning them in place. Some collapsed with wails of anguish, while others simply seemed to black out. He could not undo the damage with this method alone—that would take hypnotic therapy and probably mending of their cinematic records—but at least it disabled some of them, small though their threat may be.

Khronos sighed in exasperation as he kicked one of them away from himself and Grell and clunked another over the head with his fist, knocking her out. “‘course they are,” he rasped. Shooting a condemning look at his stilled adversary, he dragged Grell to an unoccupied spot in the corridor and eased her down.

Stroking her hair, he whispered into her ear. “Be right back, love. We’re finishing this today, one way or another.”

He stood up and summoned his scythe again; not so much for the purpose of reaping the hapless patients Hypnos had unleashed upon them, but to use as a blunt weapon to incapacitate them—and to help deal with the butler. He started back into the room and he stopped in his tracks when he nearly ran over none other than Ciel Phantomhive. The child somewhat resembled one of his Bizarre Dolls with that blank, dead expression on his face and his jerky movements.

"Well, isn’t this a fine how d’ya do," grumbled the mortician under his breath.

He put his hand over Ciel’s head and held him at bay as the boy tried to attack him, rather like a bully picking on an angry small fry. He smirked and looked at Sebastian. Unable to call out to him, he tucked the snatc of his scythe under his other arm and brought his fingers to his lips to whistle sharply. When Sebastian glanced his way, he pointed at the adolescent he was fending off.

"This what you’re looking for, chap?"

He imagined the demon’s hearing should be sharp enough to hear his whisper over the grunts, shuffles and clashes of the struggle—and if not, he could at least read his lips.

Moira blinked as a gust of wind past through her; the demon vanished from in front of her and rematerializing before Khronos. Using his borrowed scythe, Sebastian knocked away the mortician’s hand from his master’s head. Just as quickly as he appeared he vanished, taking Ciel with him.

 

* * *

 

_~Erbeere, I won’t tell you again. Kill Khronos. Now, while his back is turned to you. Pick up your scythe and drive it into his back.~_

"No! Please don’t make me?" Grell whimpered, his eyes shooting open and looking at the back of his lover as he stood just inside the room.

Mortals were appearing everywhere and he could feel Hypnos swimming in his mind. He struggled to stand. He glanced at the Doctor. The stasis around him and Eric was beginning to crumble. Whether it was due to Khronos’ distraction, or Hypnos slowly chipping away at it, he could not be certain. All he knew was that it would not be long before the Doctor was free once more.

_~You are mine, Grell. I will never give you up. Kill Khronos. Now!~_

Hypnos’ voice was growing more agitated in his mind. Grell wanted to resist, but he found his body moving towards his scythe that lay half way between his lover and himself. He shook his head as tears formed in eyes.

"No! Please!" Grell pleaded as he knelt down and picked up his chainsaw. His eyes were focused on the mortician’s back, Khronos’ silver hair flowing down his backside. That soft, silky hair that Grell enjoyed running his fingers through. He shook his head again and cried out. "Wundt!"

It all happened so fast, and yet it seemed as everything happened in slow motion. The stasis enveloping Hypnos gave way. Grell spun, swinging his scythe in the air. Eric was tossed out of the way by Hypnos as he broke free and lunged forward. Unexpectedly, Grell’s scythe did not meet with Khronos’ back, instead it continued to whiz past him. Grell screamed, narrowing his eyes on its target. With every drop of energy he had left in him, he fought the constraints and hypnotic control Wundt had planted in his head. He ground his teeth together as he drove his scythe straight into the advancing reaper. Wundt’s face expressed shock and devastation as he felt his flesh tear open. Blood rained down over Grell and himself. Wundt’s record trickled out slowly as he fought to keep them intact and inside his body. He refused to give up so easily, and Grell’s strength was dwindling fast. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold onto his chainsaw.

One by one, the mortals attacking them began to drop as Wundt’s life force drained from him. Like his brother Thanatos, blood spilled from his speechless lips. Once more he called out to the redhead with his dying mind.

_~Grell, you will always be mine. You will always be my Erbeere.~_

Wundt’s body went limp and his records came to an end. Grell pulled his scythe from the Doctor’s torso and stumbled backwards. He let go of the heavy machine and it thundered off the walls as it hit the ground again. He slowly turned to Khronos, meeting his lover’s eyes. His brow was pinched together and his shoulders were slightly hunched. His lip trembled as tears and blood ran down his cheeks, dripping from his face. His legs began to shake as warm, wet liquid drizzled down the insides of them, painting his pale skin red.

"Khronos…" Grell whispered as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body collapsed to the ground like Wundt’s other patients.

"Grell!" Moira exclaimed as she watched the redhead fall.

"Sutcliff." William breathed as he too turned just in time to see Grell’s body falling to the ground.

Khronos forgot all about Sebastian and Ciel, and he rushed to his lover’s side. “Grell…you did it,” he tried to say, but his words again came out as nothing more than a whisper. He touched the fallen redhead’s clammy face, concerned.

"Wha’ in fookin’ hell’s goin’ on here?" Demanded Eric Slingby, having woken up to find himself slicing empty air.

"Head’s uuup!"

Eric turned to see Ronald’s mower about to come down on his head—with the blond’s shocked and terrified face looming behind it. He rolled aside with a curse. “Christ, wha’ ya tryin’ tae do, kid?”

"S-sorry…sorry!" Ronald turned off his mower in confusion. The body of the man they’d both just been about to reap lay a foot away from where it was before, and the last thing he remembered was seeing Eric’s scythe just about to make the first cut. "I dun’ get it! What happened?"

Then he heard his lover calling Grell’s name from the doorway of the room, and he saw Undertaker cradling the redhead’s unconscious body—right next to Hippo’s.

"S-senpai?"

Moira stumbled over to the lovers. She covered her mouth with her hands as she dropped to her knees next to Grell. Her eyes wandered the length of his body. Slowly, she raised her head and looked over at the silver-haired ancient.

"Khronos, she’s bleeding." Moira managed to whisper to him.

William stepped up behind her and adjusted his glasses, and then cleared his throat before speaking. “Undertaker, let us get Grell to hospital. He…I mean she, needs medical care immediately. I give you my word no more harm will befall her. I will personally see to it. The others will be here soon to clean up after Wundt. By the sounds of it, you should be looked at as well.”

It was then that Will looked over at the young blond who was still standing in shock and then down at Moira. He pulled a cloth from the inside breast pocket of his coat and proceeded to wipe down his scythe.

"As a matter of fact, these two as well – Mister Knox and Miss Anderson should also be checked by a doctor," he stated looking down at Khronos from the corner of his eye.

The silver ancient’s heart seemed to stop at the sight of the blood staining Grell’s thighs. “Yes…get her out of here right now,” he whispered. “I…”

He looked around helplessly, wanting to be at his lover’s side, but loathe leaving until the matter was dealt with.

"I will stay, old friend," offered Lawrence, sensing Khronos’ indecision. "I shall speak with the Dispatch agents when they arrive. Mr. Slingby, perhaps you can stay with me? I imagine you and I are the least injured of them all."

Eric nodded, glancing at Ronald. “Aye, and some ‘r cut deeper than tha flesh.”

Ronald flushed, still in a state of confusion. He went over to Moira and he took her hand. “They d-don’t touch her without me there.”

Eric blinked at him. Knox had it bad…and that was almost unheard of. “Fine. Jus’ go wi’ tha rest, while Pops an’ I wait here tae explain everything.”

With a sigh and another worried glance at Grell, Khronos created a portal that would take them all to the London Dispatch hospital. He would have liked to take William at his word, but the man had already failed to act while Grell was being tortured and experimented on right under the organization’s noses.

"Let’s go then," he rasped.

William nodded, dismissing Grell’s scythe. He then carefully scooped the redhead up into his arms. He was injured as well, but Khronos looked like his energy may be beginning to wane a bit. He owed Grell and the ancient an apology, for never having paid attention to Grell’s cries for help. He had been blind and foolish. Grell was suffering for it, and so he gently walked with the unconscious reaper in his arms, disappearing first into the portal.

"Ronald, I am fine. You don’t need to fuss over me so much." Moira whispered as she slid her arms around the blond’s neck. She clung to him tightly and did not fight him when she felt him lift her off the ground. She may have said that she did not need him fussing over her, but she took it nonetheless, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"Just let me do this much," he whispered to her, still eaten alive inside with guilt over what had happened. It wasn’t like either of them had been given much choice, though. He honestly hoped they hadn’t conceived from this. He’d meant what he said when he told her that he would do his part, but this wasn’t how he ever imagined himself having a kid. Hell, he’d never imagined himself having a kid at all…but through rape? Rape that he himself had conducted? He kept trying to tell himself that it wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t shake it.

"I’m sorry, babe," he whispered to her for perhaps the twelfth time since it happened. He nuzzled her soft hair, and he stepped through the portal with her after Will.

Khronos went through next, with one last, lingering look at Lawrence and Eric. “Stay sharp, lads,” he advised in his whispering voice. “We took down the beast, but the minions might still be lurking about.”

With that warning statement issued, he followed the others through the portal, leaving his old friend and Eric to stand in wait for Dispatch to arrive.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	22. Chapter 22

The flickering light of a portal began to form just outside the doors of the Grim Reaper Hospital. The silhouette of a man carrying another silhouette appeared, back-lit by the portal’s bright glow. He was exhausted and injured, but he had given his word to the ancient that he would see personally to his bundle’s medical care. He paused before the sliding doors of the emergency department and looked down at Grell’s face. A pang of guilt washed over him once more. Adjusting his grip on the unconscious redhead carefully, William took a deep breath and stepped forward. His movement activated the automatic doors. The others would be arriving shortly behind him, but at this moment Grell was his only concern.

"I need a doctor, now!" He shouted as he entered the facility.

One of the nurses at the nurses’ station picked up a phone behind the counter, calling for assistance while two others raced to get a gurney for Grell.

"It will be alright, Grell," cooed William as the gurney was wheeled up in front of him. Gingerly, he laid the redhead down upon the pristine white sheets. He knew Grell most likely could not hear him, but still if there was even a remote chance she was listening, he wanted her to know she was not alone.

"The others will be here before too long."

"Sir, please follow us." The nurse who had called for assistance instructed as she came up alongside him and urged him to follow.

William nodded and glanced back to the entrance. Two more figures were just arriving as he started down the corridor with the nurses and Grell.

Ronald carried Moira swiftly through the portal, wasting no time in shouting for medical help as soon as he made it through the doors. Behind him came Khronos, and when the ancient spotted Grell being wheeled away in a gurney up ahead, he hastened to her side and took her hand. He glanced at William and nodded gratefully to him, silently thanking him for taking care of his lover. He still held some contempt for the man failing to act sooner, but at least he seemed to be trying to redeem himself.

They brought Grell into an examination room and they ushered her worried companions out.

"You can wait in the hall, sirs," insisted a female medic. "I’m sorry, but only medical staff are allowed to stay until the doctor says otherwise. We will keep you informed, I promise."

Khronos sighed and reluctantly let go of his lover’s hand. Hemorrhaging was never a good sign.

"Please, take good care of her," he rasped.

 

* * *

 

A few doors down, Moira was likewise being examined, but since she had suffered no severe injuries, Ronald was allowed to be in the room with her.

"We should look at you too, Officer Knox," advised the doctor as he checked the beautiful ancient’s vitals and reflexes. "You appear to have been through the wringer a bit, yourself."

"See to her first," insisted the blond stubbornly. "I can wait."

Moira looked over at Ronald and touched his hand. She smiled warmly and whispered softly, “Ronnie, please let them start looking at you. You have a nasty gash on your arm, and I would be sick with worry if it got infected. Besides, you can’t stand next to me when they run the scan of my head. You won’t fit inside the machine with me,” she teased. “When I return, you don’t have to leave my side, but let them look at you while I get the scan done. Will you let them, love?”

For a moment, he looked torn. After what they’d just been through, he really didn’t want to let her out of his sight for a second…but he reminded himself that Moira was an ancient, and could likely take care of herself better than he ever could, if anyone tried anything funny. He nodded reluctantly and he let one of the other medics examine him while they took Moira off to be scanned.

"Better not do anything funny," he warned them.

"Oh really now, Mr. Knox," chastised the woman looking him over. "We’re here to help. Your lady friend won’t be harmed."

He shrugged. “Just saying; I don’t much trust anyone anymore.”

 

* * *

 

William sat on the examination table in another room, just down from where Grell was being looked after. A nurse was wrapping a severe wound on his side. The split flesh had needed stitches; it was a deep wound caused from one of the goon’s scythes. He sighed once more as he watched Khronos pace back and forth.

"Undertaker, you are making me nervous. Is there nothing I can do to get you to take a seat and let that nurse have a look at you? Though I am sure there is naught but a scratch upon you. However, you will wear yourself out pacing."

The nurse he was referring to was a small brunette who had been trying to get the anxious ancient to sit still for nearly half an hour now. She was shy and found the former Dispatch agent intimidating. Several times, not knowing what else to do, she had looked at her fellow nurse and the Dispatch Manager for help. Both were preoccupied with his examination, and they had left her to her own devices. But now, William caught her pensive expression, and out of pity he spoke up.

"You will do Grell no help, if you wear yourself out. She will need you when she wakes," William pointed out, adjusting his glasses.

The ancient stopped pacing to pierce William with his gaze, a frown twisting his pale lips. He could have told him that this mightn’t have happened, if he’d just paid attention to what was going on and investigated this sooner. He could have told him that he had no place lecturing him. Speaking was painful to him though, and his words came out in raspy husks. It wasn’t worth the energy to tell Spears what the bloke already knew himself, though.

With a sigh, Khronos sat down on one of the small chairs, and he checked the clock. His body was still tingling from the chronological alteration he’d done to it in order to defeat Thanatos. It was a bit like when he ate too many cookies and got a sugar rush. Small thing to worry about, though. How long would they be working on Grell? What had caused the hemorrhage in the first place? Was it organ damage?

So many questions raged in his mind as he waited for news about his lover.

William’s gaze remained on the mortician as he finally succumbed to taking a seat. He then nodded to the nurse in thanks as she smiled and stepped back. There would be some days of discomfort before the wound would begin to heal, but it was a small price to pay for having ignored the redhead’s pleas for help over the years.

"I am sure they will have some news shortly about Grell. The main thing is that she is safe, and no longer in that ghastly facility. The two rogues can no longer do her any harm. I will see to it personally that their records are secured and locked away in the great vault. I am sure there will be no trials, since both were in violation of a grand number of reaper laws."

"Don’t imagine so," agreed the mortician in a whisper, and that sat fine with him.

The souls of the guilty reapers would likely be sent straight to Hell, where they belonged.

A nurse came in at that moment, looking at him with a bit of trepidation before approaching him. She gave a respectful little bow of her head.

"Legendary Death, you may now see Officer Sutcliff, if you like. There is…something the doctor wishes to discuss with both of you, sir."

The ancient nodded, heart skipping a beat at the news; Gods…what had they done to his lover? Was Grell going to suffer permanent physical damage from their cruelty, along with the psychological injuries?

"Lead on," he rasped, "and do a bloke a favor; just call me ‘Undertaker’. That’s who I am, now."

She nodded and swallowed, “Of course, sir. As you wish.”

He followed her without another word.

William slipped his shirt on and began to button it as they headed down the hall, following the young nurse. Something in the way she had looked at the ancient made his blood run cold…well, colder than usual.

He had just clasped the final button when they arrived at a special door. William paused and looked up at the sign above it, ‘Intensive Care Unit’.

_~What the Hell is Sutcliff doing in here?~_

He had no time to further ponder the question as the nurse opened the door and ushered the Undertaker and himself into the section of hospital, used specifically for rare medical cases and those reapers that had become infected with demon taint; or attacked viciously by a hostile soul. This was not a unit most reapers would ever need to visit.

As they entered the ICU, a wall of large glass windows stood before them. Beyond the glass was a bed, the bright color of red could be seen upon the pillow. The sounds of a heart monitor and beeps from other machines could be heard filtering through the wide, open door of the room. William abruptly stopped just inside the door, shocked by the sight of the redhead lying in the bed.

Grell lay unconscious and a breathing tube had been inserted into his mouth. His chest was rising and falling with each breath forced into his lungs. This was not a common practice for a reaper who had fallen into a Reaper’s Sleep. Reapers didn’t require oxygen to survive. They simply fell into a deep sleep or typically known as, ‘Reaper Sleep’, which to mortals appeared as death. It was then a reaper’s body repaired itself. Mortals that came across a sleeping reaper would swear the being was dead as their hearts only beat once every so often. So why was oxygen being pumped into her body?

Not only was Grell hooked to a breathing machine, but a heart monitor and two different IVs were running into his veins. William stood in stunned silence as the doctor began to speak.

"Gentlemen, I am Doctor Damion Emmerson."

The Doctor introduced himself, offering his hand to both William and The Undertaker.

"I have been assigned Miss Sutcliff’s case. There are a few things to discuss and you may wish to take a seat."

Undertaker remained standing at Grell’s side, taking her limp hand in his.

"Just tell me," he whispered.

_~Merciful death, please don’t tell me I’m going to lose my rose…not after all this. Was everything we did to save her for naught?~_

William remained standing as well, just at the foot of Grell’s bed. He had one question and one question only on his mind. Adjusting his glasses, his gaze pierced the doctor’s.

"Why the use of oxygen; why are you not allowing her to sleep and heal on her own?"

"Yes, Well…" The doctor peered down at his patient before looking back up at William and then Undertaker. "While her wounds along the back are severe and will eventually heal as you say, on their own…there is a more dire reason for the breathing tubes. It appears Miss Sutcliff is with child. The fetus needs the additional oxygen and for Miss Sutcliff to keep her heart rate up. If we allow her to fall into a normal healing sleep, her heart rate will drop and she will stop breathing, as you well know."

As he looked down at Grell one more time, his voice grew more somber.

"The baby needs oxygen and proper blood flow to develop if it is to have any chance of survival. We are monitoring it carefully and despite the trauma Miss Sutcliff has sustained, the baby seems to be healthy for its size. In addition, the added oxygen will help her heal faster, and may in fact allow Miss Sutcliff to awake sooner. Though it is hard to say for certain, her body has been through a lot duress, as of recent."

Beneath the pale shag of his bangs, Undertaker’s eyes widened. He looked from the doctor to Grell and back again.

"W-with child?" he repeated dumbly in his ruined voice. "How th’ bloody hell…oh…oh dear."

He’d gotten her pregnant. He hadn’t even considered that possibility as being a part of the transformation done to her by Thanatos. He’d been operating under the presumption that it was only a surface change, that internal female sex organs were not formed along with the outer bits. Evidently, he’d been wrong about that. An oddly giddy feeling came over him at the notion that he was going to be a papa.

But almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, another, darker thought followed. What if he wasn’t the father? Hypnos held Grell prisoner for some time after Michaelis slit his throat, after all. He already knew the villain had violated Grell before in the past. What if this child was not of his seed, but of the nefarious ancient masquerading as Wundt?

"How far along?" he demanded as loudly as he could. "What’s the estimated date of conception?"

He asked not only for his own piece of mind, but for Grell’s. If she found out she was carrying the baby of her captor…

His fists clenched at the thought of it. Bad enough for Wundt to force himself on Grell, but to have impregnated her as well? It was unforgivable. He wished the sadistic blighter were still alive, just so he could reap him again for his own satisfaction.

The doctor flipped through Grell’s chart before replying. “She appears to be around four weeks. Most likely she would have just started to develop symptoms – if any.”

William swallowed hard and stumbled back, collapsing into a chair that had been placed in the room for visitors. How was any of this possible?

Undertaker mentally counted in his head. Yes, according to Lawrence’s account of how long he’d been comatose, the timing was right. He started to breathe a sigh of relief, but he needed to be certain. Shinigami technology being advanced as it was, he knew there were ways to be discover the parentage of an uncertain pregnancy.

"Could we arrange a paternity test?"

The words were like a bitter poison on his lips. Even if the child wasn’t his, he would not abandon Grell—but he needed to know. Only one other person could be the father—provided Hypnos hadn’t allowed someone other than himself to violate Grell while he had her in his clutches.

Closing the chart, Doctor Emmerson looked up at the Undertaker; surprised by the question. The thought never occurred to him that someone else besides the man who had violated the redhead could be the father.

"Paternity test? I just assumed…I mean the evidence of rape. Sir, are you suggesting someone else could be the father?"

Undertaker pointed at himself and nodded, unable to fault the man for his assumptions.

"She and I are lovers, chap. This is gonna be hard enough for her to swallow as it is. If I’m the father, it might be a touch easier for her to accept."

He rolled up his sleeve and stuck his white arm out insistently.

"So go on and stick me so we can find out, yeah? That’s how you do it, right? Blood testing?"

William sat quietly watching the exchange between the two. He knew that Grell and Undertaker had become intimate, but the thought of the two being parents was overwhelming.

"Pardon me, gentlemen. I am rather afraid I need some air. I should also like to check on the others, and to be quite honest I find all this news quite unsettling. If you will excuse me, I shall now check on Miss Anderson and Mister Knox," Will said, finally breaking his silence as he stood.

However, before exiting, Will paused at the doorway and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Undertaker, before I go. What of the others?” Hastily, he inquired, turning to the silver-haired ancient. “If they ask about Grell’s well-being, what is it that I should say?”

The mortician lowered his gaze in thought, before glancing at his unconscious lover.

"Tell them she’s resting nice and stable, for now," he whispered, "If they ask about the bleeding…say it was blood in the urine from the abuse she suffered. Nobody else needs to know about this ‘till she’s had a chance to wake and decide for herself how she wants to deal with it, yeah?"

There was no point to them knowing…not yet. Grell might not want this baby—especially if it was conceived in rape. He wasn’t sure how he even felt about it, but it was a private matter. To think that everyone else should find out before Grell herself even knew wasn’t acceptable to him.

"I understand," replied William, nodding. "If you need me, I shall be with the others and my cell is on. Do not hesitate to call me."

While William bid farewell, the doctor proceeded to pull a syringe and tourniquet from the storage closet in Grell’s room. If the former field ancient wanted a paternity test, then he would oblige. Retrieving his blood would be the easy part. The baby’s, however, would require a small procedure. A minor one, which required the help of a nurse and an ultrasound machine; nothing he could not handle. After a few hours of testing, they would have the results and know for certain if Undertaker was the father or not.

 

* * *

 

Ronald stared at the machine that they wanted him to lie down and be inserted into.

He shook his head, “Man, I really d-don’t wanna go in there.”

Eric had arrived with Alan and Lawrence after debriefing the Dispatch backup when they arrived at Wundt’s clinic. While he stayed with Ronald, Anderson went into the room down the hall to check on his sister and Alan discussed Grell’s condition with William.

"Ronnie, ye’ll be fine," assured the Scotsman with a pat on the blond’s gown-clad shoulder. "They’ve go’ tae see wha’s been done tae yer cinematic records." He gently started to steer him towards the sliding gurney.

"But it looks…really tight in there," gasped, Ronald, resisting the stronger reaper. "Eric…you’re m’ mate. Don’t make me do this…"

Eric turned Ronald around in his arms and propped his glasses low on his nose so he could look him in the eye without the shading interfering.

"Look at me, Ronnie."

Gulping, the younger blond did as he said. He was shaking like a leaf. Eric had never seen him like this before, and it made him feel a helpless wave of pity and anger.

"It’s ‘cause we’re mates tha’ I’ve gotta insist. Its ten minutes, Ron. Ten minutes o’ yer life. The Knox I know wouldnae let a machine scare ‘im. If ya want tae live a normal life again, ye’ve go’ tae let ‘em do this, a’right?"

Tears welled up in the blond’s eyes—evidence that he was not only more traumatized than he’d let on earlier, but still barely more than a kid.

"I dunno if the Ronnie ya knew is still in here."

"Bullshit," insisted Eric. "He is. Come on, kid…pull it t’gether."

"C-can’t," gasped Ronald with another frightful look at the machine. His eyes were dilating and he struggled harder against Eric’s hold.

"Leggo of me, fuckers! I’m not gonna let ya do this to me without a fight!"

Eric was briefly stunned when Ronald socked him in the jaw, but he was more bewildered by the younger reaper’s last comment than the punch.

"Ronnie! Cut it out! Shite…I could use some help, here!"

Orderlies came to assist him in restraining the now wildly struggling blond agent, and Eric’s throat closed up as he watched them wrestle him to the gurney and give him a shot to sedate him.

"N-no," moaned Ronald, eyes blinking in his struggle to stay awake. "Dun’…let ‘em…do this…Eric…"

At that point, Eric had to leave the room. He went out into the hallway and he leaned up against the wall, yanking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.

"Eric?" Alan came up to him with concern. "How is he?"

Eric looked at his partner, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He shook his head and swallowed, “I cannae say. He flipped out when they tried tae get him in tha record scanning machine. They had tae sedate him.”

He sighed and swallowed again, replacing his glasses over his eyes.

"I’ve ne’er seen him like tha’."

Knowing how his partner could rage when his temper got the better of him, Alan embraced him.

"They’re going to take care of him and the others, Eric. It’s going to be okay."

 

* * *

 

"Lawrence, I’m fine," Moira sighed as she laid back down in the hospital bed of her assigned examination room. "They just want to keep me here for observation, because of the tampering. I only had a few minor scrapes and a small bump to the back of my head. Nothing serious. I am more worried about Grell, to be honest. No one has come in here and let me know how she is doing."

Turning her head, she narrowed her eyes on her brother. “And have you allowed anyone to take a look at you, yet?”

She loved her brother dearly, but he could be stubborn. And he often neglected is own health and safety, when he was being over protective of her.

"Lawrence, has anyone checked you over?" She inquired once more, when he did not immediately answer her.

He grimaced a bit and he reached down to rub his sore calves. They’d healed up some since the struggle, but walking was rather painful.

"I wished to give them a chance to look after you and the young ones, first. Not to worry; I’ll be along to an examination room of my own when I leave here. My injuries are minor, compared to having one’s cinematic records tampered with."

He smiled quietly at her. “And I have only one sister, after all.”

Tenderly, she reached out and touched his hand, squeezing it.

"I am also worried about Ronnie. He… I mean they… oh Lawrence, they really messed him up. What did Hypnos do to him? How was he able to control him and that demon? And all those poor mortals," tears began to gather in her eyes, "How could they do this to us?"

"They are going to find out exactly what was done to both he and Grell," soothed Lawrence, returning the pressure of her hand. "Be strong, Moira, and be the guiding light I know you can be for them both. I shall do my best to help you help them. You’ve all been through a terrible ordeal—particularly young Grell. Ronald is quite young, but he’s an adaptive lad. We also have Khronos. With time and support, they will heal."

He grimaced as he thought of their former brethren.

"As for Hypnos and Thanatos, I can only offer the theory that they were weak. I know that I wasn’t terribly helpful in all that, but they allowed the vastness of our lifespans to drive them to madness and turn them from the path. To be honest, I’ve often feared the same might occur with Khronos."

Lawrence smirked, “But I think he has proven his fortitude. Mad he may be, but he’s no monster. And you, dear sister…you have a grandchild to love and an exceptionally loyal young man to share your affection with. Don’t be afraid of that. We all survived. A bit worse for the wear, but we are still here.”

Moira rubbed her eyes, wiping away the unshed tears that glistened in the lamp light from her bedside table; her brother’s words sinking in. He had always been her rock in times of strife and once more he was there, but now she wondered if she could still be that light he spoke of. Her mind was muddled with fear and uncertainty. The future didn’t seem so bright anymore. The damage that was caused by her fellow ancients, could it ever truly be repaired? Then an image of Ronald’s face appeared in her mind and her chest tightened. She swallowed hard before speaking again.

"Lawrence, you don’t think Ronald is too young for me? He is still very green and wet behind the ears, but I know he has a good heart." She shook her head as a single tear snuck out of the corner of her eye. "He blames himself for what they did to us. What they made us do. He did nothing wrong. I love him, and it kills me that he thinks he hurt me."

"We are reapers, Moira." Lawrence combed some wayward strands of hair away from her eyes with his free hand, still holding tight to her other one. "If Ronald is too young for you, then Grell is too young for Khronos. Personally, I think your beau has proven to be mature enough to be suitable for you. I had my doubts before, but after witnessing everything, I should say I was very wrong on that front. If you love him and he loves you, then don’t punish either of you by keeping yourself from him. He has growing to do yet, but he clearly loves you, and he’s a brave lad."

Lawrence got out of his chair with a little grunt, and he leaned over to kiss Moira on the forehead.

"Give him a chance…and yourself, as well. He’s going to need you. All that you can do now is show him that you hold no fault with him. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I ought to see about getting looked over. I know you have things to consider. I shall return once they’ve poked and prodded me a bit."

He gently released her hand. “Rest for a while and consider your feelings. I only ask that you not allow your fears to rule them.”

Moira watched Lawrence leave the room. He was right. They had a long way to go, but they would do it together. Carefully, she turned onto her side and tucked the pillow more comfortably under her head. Her thoughts returned to her young lover and she wondered how he was doing. It had been an hour since Ronald was wheeled down to the lab for his own scan. She knew he was not alone, but she wanted to see him, touch his hand and know he was alright. Slowly, her eyes began to close. The recent events were finally catching up to her; exhaustion taking over.

It wasn’t long before she was sound asleep.

 

* * *

 

_~Wake up, darlin’. Please. Let me know you’re still in there.~_

Khronos hadn’t slept a wink, yet. His eyes were circled with shadows of exhaustion as he sat in the chair beside his unconscious lover’s bed and held her limp hand. A father. He was going to be…a father. The doctor came back with the news about an hour after taking samples for the testing procedure. It was such a great relief to find out that the baby was put there by him, and not by Hypnos, that Undertaker actually needed a moment alone outside to breathe and calm down.

He’d gone onto the roof and looked up at the evening sky, counting the stars as they came out and the sun bade its final farewell for the day. Merciful Hades…he’d gotten his lover pregnant. He was going to be…

The ancient flicked his eyes back at his slumbering lover, reminding himself that it was a bit premature to start handing out cigars. Even if Grell chose to keep it, things could happen. This was a very unusual situation, after all, and what if she hated him for it? What if it was too much to bear?

He sighed and he caressed the delicate fingertips of the hand he held.

"Sorry, love," he said for perhaps the…well, he’d lost count of how many times he’d said it. "Never meant for any of this to happen to you."

This was one time since waking up that he didn’t mind not having a voice, anymore. Much as he wanted his rose to open her eyes, he dreaded the prospect of trying to explain everything to her in whispers and rasps.

"You’re going to make yourself sick," William stated as he stood in the doorway of Grell’s ICU room.

His coat was folded over his arm and his tie still hung loose around his neck. Somewhere along the way he had lost his waistcoat, and it had been his favorite one, too. His normally kept hair was tousled just like the way he used to wear it in his youth. In his other hand was a steaming cup of tea and he raised it to his lips, taking a sip before he spoke again.

"You need to rest. Everyone else is sleeping or has gone home for the night."

Undertaker bowed his head. “Is this how you plan to make up for your negligence, Spears? By playing ‘mother hen’ with me?”

He looked up at the brunet. “I think maybe you ought to take your own advice, chap. You’re looking haggard, yourself. As for myself, I’ll sleep in this chair by her side. I’m not going anywhere ‘till she’s released from this place.”

"Perhaps I am, Undertaker," he smirked. "However, I have spoken to the doctor and they have agreed to allow you to stay here, by Grell’s side, so long as you attempt to get sleep. Orderlies will be arriving with a cot soon. It is against hospital policy, but I can still be persuasive when I need to be."

Turning his attention to a chair pressed up against the wall, Will strode slowly over to it.

"I told them that unless they wish to be reaped at your hands, they will allow you to stay and that I will take responsibility for you," he explained, draping his coat over the back of the chair. "There has been enough bloodshed for one day, and I hate the thought of what you might do if they attempt to force you out of here. Though I must agree, you need some rest."

The ancient looked at his lover. His eyes were burning with the need for sleep, and he’d already caught himself nodding off once or twice.

"Have it your way, then. Long as they know I’m here to stay ‘till Grell’s ready to go home."

He sniffed himself and he grimaced. “I could probably use a shower and a change of clothes, though. I’m sure Anderson can bring me something when he returns tomorrow, though.”

"Yes, but for tonight, I think just getting a few hours of sleep will do you a world of good." Will nodded towards Grell as he took a seat in the chair, "I shall keep watch over her while you get some rest. I had a nap earlier, so I shall not need anymore rest for a time."

Undertaker grunted and shrugged. He was tired, and seeing as speaking was a chore for him now, there was no point in arguing. The hospital staff came in with a gurney for him, and once they set it up, he removed his boots and pushed it close to Grell’s bed, before climbing into it to lay down. Facing his lover on his side, he reached out to take Grell’s hand in his before closing his eyes. He drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to care about the presence of Spears in the room, and his dreams were rather awful. His mind conjured up images of the things Hypnos must have done to Grell while he had her in captivity, and he twitched restlessly with helpless rage.

_"I’m not finished with her, Khronos," whispered the insidious voice of Hypnos, "She is mine."_

_"Bugger off," whispered the ancient, back. "You’re dead now. Ought to learn to act that way."_

_There came a dark chuckle from the once powerful doctor._

_"My body is dead, but my essence remains close by. I can yet play with your precious rose."_

A coldness went through Undertaker at the thought. Grell had reaped Hypnos, in the end. Her scythe still contained his records, as they hadn’t had the opportunity to transfer them into soul tomes for the library—or destruction, as the case may be. His eyes fluttered open sluggishly, focusing on the blurred form of his lover in the bed next to him. She was stirring. He tried to speak…tried to move, but his body felt like lead. It was if it was still asleep, while his mind was awake and aware.

_~Grell…~_

She started to sit up, a blank expression on her face. He knew beyond a doubt that she wasn’t the one pulling the strings, and he struggled to wake his body up before the dark soul of their enemy could do more damage to her.

_~Spears, you’d better still be awake!~_

And preferably aware that something wasn’t right about the way Grell had abruptly seemed to rouse and sit up.

 

* * *

 

William had been doing what he had sworn to do, watching over Grell as she slept. Occasionally he had glanced at her sleeping protector and lover. The worn and withered former reaper had tossed and turned for several hours, but something was different now. He seemed to be trapped, perhaps in a nightmare that he was having. He was mumbling, and William could not make out a single word he uttered; his body twitched strangely in the bed next to Grell’s. Concerned that Undertaker was caught in a night terror, William bolted from his chair. Standing over the ancient, he looked down puzzled, unsure of what would be the correct course of action. Should he rouse the sleeping mortician or let him fight through his own dream? William followed his gut; wake him.

"Undertaker," William called as he pushed and shook the mortician’s shoulders. "Undertaker, wake up!"

_~Spears, you blithering idiot! I Am awake! Grell’s the one you need to be shaking! Can’t you see her sitting up?~_

There was a choked, raw sound, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from him. He then also realized that his eyes weren’t open, after all. This realization occurred when William decided to pinch one of his lids open to check his eyes. The ancient’s other eye snapped open, and his gaze flicked to Grell as he sat up with a tortured gasp. He came close to head-butting the brunet standing over him, but Spears hastily backed off to avoid it.

"Grell?" Undertaker reached out to her, studying her intently. She hadn’t moved. She appeared to be sleeping, still, and when he reached out delicately with his senses to probe her spirit, he found it still intact.

A warning, then. Precognition. Once upon a time, he got them more regularly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one, though.

"Spears, listen carefully," he rasped, his eyes remaining on Grell. "You need to take her scythe immediately and have the stored records safely removed and contained within the library."

He looked up at the young supervisor. “Understand, chap? Don’t waste a moment.”

"Undertaker, I have already sent Grell’s scythe off with Mister Humphries and Mister Slingby; they should have already turned it into the Library and the Collections Department for extraction. I guarantee the utmost care and precautions are being taken; as this is a most delicate situation and none of us wish there to be a mishap," explained William as he ran a hand through his hair; breathing a sigh of relief.

He had nearly been knocked unconscious himself, waking the old codger from his wicked sleep.

"I trust Mister Humphries, Sir. He will be tremendously careful with the records and he knows precisely what must be done with them. So I see no need for me to rush off and check the work of one of my most trusted associates."

Undertaker stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was going even madder than before. Of course, he’d meddled with his own timeline in order to save his lover. Such a thing was bound to have side-effects, and he’d been in a coma for weeks.

Wordlessly, he lay back down and he sighed, gazing at Grell’s sleeping visage. Just how badly had he buggered up his own records, with the stunts he’d pulled? There was a reason he’d abandoned Khronos to become the Undertaker, and it wasn’t just because of divine mandate that the powers of the ancients were too strong to be passed on. He didn’t need the divine to tell him that. The truth was that time manipulation was a power no single being should possess. Not even he had ever known exactly how much he could do with his abilities.

"When you wake," he whispered to Grell, "Khronos will be gone…but Undertaker’s still going to be here."

"Would you like some tea or is there something else I could get for you, Sir? Perhaps warm milk?" William asked as he watched the mad reaper lie back down in his provided bed. "I cannot fathom what you were dreaming about, but I can assure you, it was just that; a dream."

Undertaker shook his head and closed his eyes, wondering if he’d ever find laughter again.

Will sighed and turned from the ancient. “Fine, try and see if a more peaceful sleep will find you. I am going to pardon myself for a moment. My tea has grown rather weak and cold. I shan’t be more than a moment.”

 

* * *

 

"Ronald." Moira’s sweet voice whispered into the blond’s ear. He was sound asleep and had been placed in the room next to her’s.

She had been asleep for hours, but had woken from yet another nightmare; though this time her dreams were not of the redhead, but of Ronald. Frightened by the images that had played behind her closed eyes; Moira woke a crawled out of her bed and snuck into the hall. Quietly and barefoot, she had padded down the hall. She followed her heart, discovering the young reaper was asleep in the room next to her’s. Making sure no one saw her; Moira slowly pushed the door open to Ronald’s room and crept inside.

She paused at the foot of his bed and watched him sleep for a moment, before approaching his side. Then carefully she reached out and touched his cheek as she leaned over his resting body and whispered, “Ronald; Ronald, my love. I cannot sleep. I am terrified of my dreams. I needed to see you. Needed to know you were alright.”

He reacted to her voice despite the medication that made him so groggy.

"Hey," he said. Hearing how croaky his voice sounded, he cleared his throat. "C’mere, beautiful. Think I c’n…scoot over."

He squirmed on the bed to make room for her, only half-aware of his surroundings.

"Feels like I’ve…had m’ head vacuumed out. ‘M still in here, though."

The smile on her lips reached her eyes as she looked down into his sleepy face.

"That is good to know you are still in there. I would be lost without you, if you were not," she whispered slipping onto the bed and under his sheets and blankets.

"I love you," she breathed as she kissed his cheek chastely. Delicately, she laced her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently. "I never want to sleep alone again."

"Nnn, sleep is good," he mumbled with a sigh, putting an arm around her. "Nubody should…go without sleep. I’ll keep th’ nightmares away for ya."

Moira nuzzled his neck and smiled, letting her eyes drift closed.

"Yes, sleep is good. And you…will…you promise to keep the nightmares away?" She yawned.

"I promise," he answered with a nod, "and if I can’t keep ‘em away completely, at least I’ll be right here to comfort ya."

"That…sounds good…to me…" Moira replied in a whisper as her eyes began to close slowly, her hand resting delicately on his chest; just above his heart, "mo ghrá."

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	23. Chapter 23

It had been nearly two weeks since the incident in Germany. Moira, Lawrence and Undertaker: Grell's family, had taken to keeping an eye on her round the clock. Each had chosen a different shift, but all refused to leave her there alone. The thought of Grell waking up in the hospital and no one by her side was unacceptable to them all. So each gave as much of their time to be with her, as they possibly could. Never leaving Grell's  hospital room for any reason until one of the others appeared.  
  
Undertaker always slept in the provided bed next to his lover. He refused to be anywhere else than by her side as she slept, and often time he lay awake just watching her. Watching how her chest would rise and fall as the oxygen flowed into her lungs unnaturally, sustaining their unborn child.  
  
Lawrence was always there bright and early, typically bringing breakfast to the retired reaper, whom if not watched, would not eat without prodding. Then Moira would arrive bringing lunch for the two men and in doing so, would allow her brother to go to work where he still had a department to run.  
  
Moira always acknowledged the gentlemen first when she arrived before turning her attention to Grell. "Dea-lá, mo leanbh. Tá súil agam go bhfuil tú chodail go maith. An mbeidh tú inniu ar ais chugainn?" she would ask softly, which in English translated to: "Good day, my child. I hope that you have slept well. Will you today return to us?" After which she would place a gentle kiss to the redhead's cheek, smiling warmly. Once she made sure the men were eating the lunches she had brought, she would relax and take her place alongside Grell's bed. Here she would remain the rest of the day.  
  
It had been many a long year since she had played the role of mother. Now having discovered she had a granddaughter, she was more than happy to resume that once forgotten role.  
  
Moira was there mostly during the afternoons and evenings. She spent her mornings at Dispatch and returned around lunch time to relieve Lawrence. She also preferred to be the one to conduct Grell's exercises; keeping the redhead's body from developing muscle atrophy. Everyday like clockwork, after they had all consumed their lunches, Moira would pull the covers back and carefully bend and flex Grell's legs; humming as she did so. First she worked Grell's legs and then Moira would move to her arms. Equally and as carefully, she would roll Grell from side to side, making sure not to disrupt any of the equipment that she was hooked up to. This exercise was to keep Grell's back from getting stiff and developing bedsores.    
  
This particular day was a quiet day, yet not so different from any other day. Moira had arrived precisely at twelve-thirty and fed Lawrence and Undertaker. She had brought a new book with her, to read to Grell. It was a book about a prince and a mermaid, it was aptly entitled, "The Little Mermaid". A man by the name of Hans Christian Andersen was the author. He was Danish and had passed away just over a decade earlier, but his most popular stories had already been translated to English, so others might enjoy them. The fairy tale, Moira had discovered, was beloved by many mortals, and so she had chosen to check it out from a London Library. On the assumption that Grell might enjoy such a tale if she were awake.  
  
Weeks prior, Moira had snuck away with Ronald and retrieved Grell's trunks from the train station. It was after rummaging through them that she had ascertained that Grell not only loved to read, but she rather enjoyed stories with intrigue and romance.  
  
After Grell's daily exercises and Undertaker had stepped out for fresh air, Moira settled into her usual chair next to Grell's hospital bed and flipped open the book. The smell of its leather binding was comforting to her and so she closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing its scent. She always had a penchant for the smell of old books. Especially the ones read over many times.  
  
As her eyes slowly reopened she glanced to Grell's face. Smiling broadly, she asked sweetly, "Shall we begin, my child?"  
  
Softly and gently Moira's voice read over the words aloud, changing in tones and intensities for each character. Periodically she would peer over at the redhead, hoping against hope she would see her eyes began to flutter and possibly open, but they remained closed and so Moira continued to read.  
  
"The little mermaid set out from her garden toward the whirlpools that raged in front of the witch's dwelling. She had never gone that way before. No flowers grew there...."  
  
  
****

* * *

****  
  
_~Khronos, where are you? I can't see you. Did I stop him? Please, tell me that you are alright? Khronos? Khronos?!~_  
  
Grell's mind was muddled and lost, stuck between the conscious plain and the unconscious abyss. He was alone in the nothingness, stuck there unaware of where he truly was. In the blackness of his mind, he was searching for his lover. Then flickers of light. The reels of his cinematic record began to play. He saw himself charging at Khronos, ready to reap him with his own two hands, Wundt pulling his mental strings.  However, he  stopped just before slicing into the Undertaker's chest. Stopped by the power of his deep love and devotion for his ancient lover. The blade in which he held suddenly turned on his tormentor, ripping into his own flesh. Wundt's blood splattered and painted Grell in crimson. The images continued to repeat over and over agin in his endless sleep till at last his cinematic record abruptly ended, casting Grell back into the darkness.  
  
_~Khronos, I hear that voice again. It's sweet and melodic, but I don't know where it is coming from. Why won't you answer me, Khronos? You were standing here a moment ago. I know I stopped him, but why have you left me here? Khronos, please answer me?! Help me! I can't find you!~_

 

* * *

****  
  
"..."Your lovely form, the witch told her, "Your gliding movements, and your eloquent eyes. With these you can easily enchant a human heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Stick out your tongue and I shall cut it off. I'll have my price, and you shall have the potent draft." "Go ahead," said the mermaid."," read Moira as she paused a moment and looked over at Grell. She could have sworn she had seen the redhead move out of the corner of her eye.  
  
Not wishing to lose her spot, she slipped the bookmark into place and shut the volume, sitting it on the bedside table. Her hand began to tremble as she reached over and touched the top of Grell's cold fingers.  
  
"Grell, my sweet child, it's Moira. Please, my dear, open your eyes. Come back to us," she coaxed, her fingertips caressing the top of Grell's hand, "Sweetie, you are safe. Hypnos is gone. You can open your eyes. Khronos is just outside now, but he is here. And all your friends keep stopping by and visiting."  
  
Moira sat there for a couple of minutes nearly holding her breath, but when she saw no further movement or any response from Grell, she stood and strode to the window. She needed to stretch her legs and she began to wonder if she was losing her mind. Rubbing the back of her neck, she gazed down at the reaper standing on the lawn below Grell's third floor window.  
  
"Grell, please wake up," she whispered as she leaned her forehead against the smooth, cool glass. She watched as the reaper turned around and looked up at her. She shook her head no as Khrono's eyes met hers.  
  
  
****

* * *

****  
  
_~I have to get out of here. I have to find Khronos, but how? I don't even know where I am. Please, someone help me! Anyone?! I have to find Khronos! I have to find my love! I want to go home!~_  
  
The sound of increased beeping from the heart monitors and other machines grew louder. Grell's eyes began to flutter violently and then in a flash, his eyes shot open. They darted around the room wildly. Confused and frightened he tried to call out for help, but he was met with a restriction. Instinctively his hands flew to his mouth only to discover a tube coming out between his lips.  
__  
~Help! Someone help me!~  
  
Panicking, Grell began to claw at the tube and the mouth piece that held it in place. His voice was nothing but a muffled screech as his legs began to thrash beneath the covers.  
  
"Grell?!" Moira called out as she rushed to the redhead's side.  
  
She heard the beeps and other sounds from the machines, the minute they went berserk and spun around to find Grell thrashing. As fast as her legs could carry her, she rushed to the redhead's side. Immediately she pried Grell's hands from the breathing tubes, afraid of what might happen if she was successful and tore them from her body. Attempting to gain her attention and calm her, Moira called Grell's name again.  
  
"Grell. Grell, it's me, Moira. Sweetie, you're safe. I need you to listen to my voice."  
  
A nurse rushed in and started for Grell, but Moira halted her and ordered her to fetch the ancient on the lawn outside.  
  
"I will see to her. Go get Khronos... now!"  
  
Still Grell continued to flail, ignoring his grandmother's pleas.  
  
**  
**

* * *

****  
  
Undertaker rushed through the building, forcing medical staff to either jump aside or be run over. He made it through the door to Grell's room and he hurried to her side, pushing orderlies out of the way before they could attempt to restrain her. Moira was likewise warding them off.  
  
"Not helping!" he rasped to them in warning, his eyes flashing with the promise of violence if they did not back off. Grell had been manhandled enough. Regardless of their good intentions, these strangers trying to subdue her could only exacerbate the situation. He glanced at Moira, but explanations could come later.  
  
"Grell, darlin'," he said as loudly as his ruined vocal chords would allow. He took her flailing hands and held them tight. "Look at me. I'm here."  
  
He stared into her eyes, willing her to calm down and praying she wasn't completely lost to him, now.  
  
At first Grell didn't recognize the voice that spoke his name, but the touch, the touch was familiar. And then there were those eyes, those eyes that he knew so well. Eyes that he had gotten lost in so many times. Those eyes, they belonged to Undertaker, his Undertaker, Khronos.  
  
Once more he tried to talk, but the tube didn't allow him to. He felt the tears gather in his eyes as he blinked and looked up at Khronos, confused. Where was he? And why was there a tube in his mouth? His eyes pleaded for answers as he squeezed the mortician's hand. _~Khronos, please?~_  
  
"You're all right, love," encouraged the ancient softly. "You're safe, now. It's all over."  
  
He rubbed Grell's hands, doing his best to soothe her. "You're in the hospital, m'dear. You've been out for some time, and they had to give you oxygen. Seeing as you're awake again, I don't think you need it any longer."  
  
Undertaker looked to Moira. "Would you fetch the doctor to come and remove the breathing tube, while I stay here with her?"  
  
"Aye... immediately," Moira replied, brushing the bangs back from Grell's forehead. "I will be right back, my child."  
  
Releasing her hold on the redhead, Moira dashed out of the room and grabbed the nurse who was waiting just outside. "If you have yet to call for the doctor...get him now! We need to get that tube out of her. Do you understand me? And call off your bloody orderlies. They are only making Grell panic more so."  
  
"Yes Miss, one of the other nurses has already called for the doctor. He will be here as soon as he can. He was just finishing up a surgery on the seventh floor. It will be a moment, but I assure you, he will be here shortly."  
  
The nurse looked around the ancient. The orderlies had backed off in fear of the ancient holding Grell's hands, but still remained in the room in case the redhead began to struggle and attempt to pull the tube from her mouth again.  
  
"They are there as a precaution. I can ask them to wait against the wall, but they have orders not to leave the room until the doctor arrives and then some. The doctor was worried, Grell would try to do something.... well stupid to be frank," she explained as she turned her attention back to Moira. "Surely you understand, Miss?"  
  
"Do you know what she has been through?" Moira countered, "Those orderlies are just making her more uneasy."  
  
"I am sorry Miss. Might I suggest you return to her side and help keep her calm, until the doctor arrives?" the nurse suggested as she ushered Moira back to the room.  
  
None-to-pleased with the nurse's reply, Moira glared briefly at her, but did as she said and returned to Grell's side. Gently she reached out and ran her fingers through Grell's crimson hair. "The doctor will be here shortly, Grell, and then that tube can come out. Just try and relax until he gets here, my darling. Khronos and I are not leaving your side," she informed them both as she smiled down at her granddaughter.  
  
Grell's eyes slowly closed as he held fast to his lover's hand. It felt strange having oxygen flow into his lungs, but he tried to ignore the sensation and opened his eyes to look up at Moira as she took his free hand into her own. His lover and his grandmother...was he dreaming?  
  
"Won't be long now," promised Undertaker. He glanced over at Moira, "And stop calling me 'Khronos', or I'll start calling you 'Atropos'. That mantle's dead now. I'm just the Undertaker, from here on out."  
  
"Pardon me, but you really ought to start thinking of adopting a real name," Moira smirked. "'Khronos' and 'Undertaker' are far to strange, if you will be living with Grell amongst the mortals now. Undertaker is an occupation _not_ a name."  
  
"Who says so?" grumbled the mortician. "If I want to be known as 'Undertaker', then I'll bloody-well be known as 'Undertaker'! Sorry, love," he apologized to Grell, "Just a bit of sibling arguments. Atropos here thinks you can change a rose by giving it another name. Your grand-mummy doesn't quite get how life—oh, here they are!"  
  
He smiled as a doctor came in, followed by two nurses. "It's about time, then. My lady's really uncomfortable with all this rigmarole, and I have things to discuss with her."  
  
"Quite all right, sir," excused the doctor respectfully. "Now Agent Sutcliff, we need you to lie back and relax as much as possible, while we remove the breathing apparatus."  
  
Grell nodded, but his grip on his lover's hand tightened as he let go of Moira's hand.  She stepped out of the way; allowing room for the doctor and nurses to work on their patient.  
  
Slowly, Grell's eyes wandered to the ceiling as he heard the machine shut off and no longer felt oxygen being pumped into his chest. Suddenly the mouth piece was unhooked from around his neck and he did exactly what the doctor instructed him to do. He took a deep breath and as he released it, the doctor pulled the tube out. The plastic rubbed against the lining of his throat and he could not help but cough as the foreign object left his body. He took a gasp of air back into his lungs and attempted to start breathing on his own again. At first his chest ached, but slowly the discomfort eased with each new breath he took. Still, his throat was sore and dry. It was itchy and his voice was barely a whisper. He turned his head and looked up at the Undertaker, wheezing his lover's name, "Khronos?"  
  
The mortician nodded and took both of Grell's hands. "I'm here, love," he whispered. He forced a smile. "Might not sound quite like you recall, but it's still me."  
  
He glanced at Moira and the medical staff. "I think I'd like a moment or three alone with her, if you don't mind. There are things we ought to talk about."  
  
Moira replied, "Yes, of course. I will get the numb-skulls out of here and when you are ready, I will be just out in the hall. I will call Lawrence... let him know that Grell has woken, finally. The rest can wait till later."  
  
And so Moira began ushering out the orderlies, alongside the nurses. The doctor hung back for a moment to speak to his patient. "I want you to relax Grell and rest as much as possible. I will allow you two a moment to get reacquainted, but not too much excitement. I would like to run an examination when I return. Make sure everything is functioning properly, now that you are breathing on your own, and for other various reasons we can go over when I return. For now, I shall leave you to talk."  
  
Undertaker nodded, and he waited until they were alone before he returned his attention to Grell. He sighed and he took the redhead's hands in his. "There's something important we need to talk about, love. Don't mind my scratchy voice—it'll heal eventually. I'm fine. We've got more important matters to think of."  
  
In an equally scratchy voice, Grell pensively looked at Undertaker and asked, "I don't understand. What is wrong? I know that look. What is wrong with me, Khronos? How long have I been here? And why did they have to put a breathing tube into my mouth? You're scaring me."  
  
It was true, Grell could see the worry in his lover's eyes and that in turn made him apprehensive. What was so dire, that they had to pump oxygen into his body? He had no idea how long he had been there either, and there were many more questions swimming around in his head; which now had begun to ache.  
  
"Tell me," he urged.  
  
Undertaker squeezed the distressed redhead's hands. "This won't be easy to take, li'l rose, but it seems... well, you and I... that is..."  
  
He stumbled over the words clumsily, and he cursed himself for being so bloody hesitant. "Grell, you're pregnant. Seems the work Thanatos did on you was a bit more thorough than any of us expected... and we conceived a nipper together. That's why they've had you on oxygen, y' see. It wasn't for your benefit, but the baby's."  
  
"Darling, now is not the time for jokes. I can handle whatever it is. Just tell me," Grell replied. But when he saw the seriousness in the ancients’ eyes, he swallowed hard and sunk deeper into his bed. Slowly he turned his head and resumed looking at the mortician,  his brows pinched together. "A baby? Us?"  
  
Undertaker nodded. "I'm afraid so, darlin'. They've confirmed it. I... had 'em take a paternity test on account of...well...you were a prisoner for a bit, before I woke up. It's mine, Grell...not his. I suppose the only question now is what you want to do."  
  
He sighed and looked down at the hands clasped in his own, which were only slightly darker in pigment. "You don't...have to have it, you know. It's your decision, regardless of how I feel. I'll support whatever you decide, my dear."  
  
"But how? We only made love once since..." Grell's eyes widened, "that would mean we...that day, but we did several times, didn't we? But still...how is this possible?"  
  
Grell's eyes wandered from Undertaker's face and came to rest on his belly. Slipping his hand from the ancient's he placed it alongside his free hand atop his still flat stomach. "A baby?" he murmured, "I'm going to have a baby?"  
  
Undertaker nodded, smiling faintly. "If you want it, love. Yes, you're going to have a baby."  
  
There was really nothing else for him to say, at this point. It was completely up to his lover and while he dearly hoped she would go through with it, he hadn't the right to try and force the issue. All he could do now was be there for her and try to show her how much he cared.  
  
"‘If I want it’?" Grell questioned, looking back up at his lover, puzzled. "Don't you want me to have it? Don't you want to raise this baby with me? If it is yours, then yes I want it. But..." His face grew somber as he was stricken with a thought. "Is it alright...the baby? After everything... that... that machine and... did he hurt it? Did he hurt our baby?"  
  
Undertaker struggled with the influx of questions, trying to pull his troubled thoughts together into a coherent whole. "Of course I want it, love. I'm...ah, you've got no idea how it felt to learn of it. I was shocked, certainly...a bit scared, too. Most of all, I was excited. It's still not my call to make, though. I hope you'll choose to keep it, but this is ultimately your decision. Everything seems to be fine. This li'l nipper's a tough one, darlin'. What Hypnos did to you...it didn't seem to harm the baby. You're in remarkably good shape, despite all of it."  
  
He reached out to caress Grell's face. "And I'm just the Undertaker now. Khronos is gone. He's got no place in this world."  
  
"So you do want the baby?" Grell smiled, "Then I do too."  
  
Grell's smile faded slightly as he took the Undertaker's hand in his own. He tenderly turned the ancient's hand over, palm facing upwards and kissed it.  
  
"You'll always be Khronos, my heart. Even if you wish not to acknowledge it. He is who you are and I would not love you so if that were not true," Grell rasped as he slowly looked up into Undertaker's eyes. "I'm not sure I would make a good mother though. I told Ann that was what we had in common... not being able to have children. Now faced with the fact I can-and am... I'm scared and excited at the same time. This all feels like a dream."  
  
Undertaker smiled at her. "I've never met a parent that knew exactly what the hell they were doing, first time 'round. I'll fish us up some literature to go over, and I'm sure Moira will help us work out the kinks. It'll work out, darlin'. This nipper got conceived against all odds, so I think it's meant to be in our lives."  
  
He leaned in to give the redhead a soft, loving kiss. "Anything I can get for you? Something to drink, mayhap? I know your throat must be sore."  
  
Grell nodded excitedly and replied, "Milkshake. Chocolate. Please."  
  
Though he didn't let go of the ancient right away, instead he took the mortician's hand and placed it flat against his tummy, resting his own hand on top of it. "Who knows about this? Moira? Lawrence?" he asked, whispering.  
  
"Just Spears, so far," answered the mortician. "And he only knows 'cause he was in the room with me when the doctor revealed it. I wanted to give you the chance to think on how you feel about it and decide how you want to tell them. Didn't sit right with me for everyone else to find out about it before you even could."  
  
"William?" Grell breathed. He pinched his brows together as he thought back, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "He was there wasn't he? I vaguely remember. He was helping you and the others."  
  
Grell looked up and searched Undertaker's face, "He was here, with you, with me?"  
  
Undertaker nodded. "Seems he finally decided to investigate. He showed up with Slingby and Humphries. Bet they weren't expecting to find such a mess."  
  
He sighed. "The doctor had no idea you and I were lovers, and there was evidence...well, after what happened to you, I s'pose it's standard procedure to check for pregnancy. Since we brought you in, we're the ones they spoke to about it. It's definitely mine, though."  
  
He watched Grell closely, hating himself for bringing up such a traumatic thing. She deserved to know, however, that this child wasn't conceived while she was a prisoner.  
  
"I understand," Grell replied, somberly. "I am glad the baby is yours. I don't know what I would do if it wasn't."  
  
Instinctively Grell pulled the covers tighter around his body, wrapping his arms around his waist. Flashes of Wundt's face appeared inside his head and he shivered.  
  
"Is he really gone?" asked the redhead as he gazed back at Undertaker, "He's never coming back is he? He can't touch me ever again?"  
  
"Not even Hypnos has the power to come back after being reaped, I imagine," Undertaker tried to assure her, "but I plan to have a chat with them about keeping his and Thanatos' records isolated in separate vaults, so there's no chance of them corrupting others."  
  
Sadly, the damage that they had done to their victims wasn't a thing that would die with them. Both Grell and Ronald would be forever scarred by it—possibly Moira, too. They could move on with their lives with help, but their experiences would never leave them unless they wiped out the memories of it completely.  
  
Undertaker patted Grell's knee and smiled at her. "I'll go and see about getting that beverage for you now, love. Just try to relax. I'm sure Moira will keep you company, and Lawrence is bound to be on his way to see you the moment he gets word."  
  
"Should I tell them-about the baby?" Grell asked, "I'm still in shock of it all, but...but I can't keep it from them for long. They'll eventually find out... and Khronos, whipped cream with two cherries." Grell smiled holding up two fingers, demonstrating that he wanted two of the small, delicious fruits. "I really like cherries," he added.  
  
"Yes, I remember," chuckled the ancient. "As for telling your family, it can wait until after you've had your treat and feel a bit better. I'll tell them with you, if you like. Either way, you're not alone, m'dear."  
  
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the top of it. "I'll be back as quick as I can."  
  
He got up to go then, and when he stepped out into the hallway he found Moira waiting there. He leaned in close to her so that he wouldn't have to strain his voice trying to speak above a whisper. "She wants a shake. Probably doesn't need asking, but would you mind keeping her company while I go and get it? I'll bring one for you too, if y' like."  
  
Moira smiled warmly up at him and shook her head, "Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. I don't feel like sweets at the moment."  
  
Gently she reached out and touched his arm. She gazed through the glass wall at Grell. "You are right; you never need to ask me to stay by her side. I have missed out enough years already. I don't plan to be so foolish any longer," she stated and looked back at him. Her eyes wandered over his scarred face. "After Clodagh, I shut my heart away. Losing her father and then her... I was afraid. Grell is so much like her... there has been too many generations without me. I will always be here for Grell."  
  
Undertaker nodded. "Good. She's been through enough, and having family will help. I'll be back as soon as I can find a shop that sells shakes. Might have to ask around a bit, though. This place has changed a lot since I was last here."  
  
Recalling that Moira had another reason to open her heart again, he decided to ask about Ronnie. "How's the Mustard Seed holding up?"  
  
He knew Ronald got released from the hospital after a week of observation and psychiatric treatment, and he was apparently staying with Eric and Alan until he got his feet back under him. Lawrence offered his home to him, but the boy felt more comfortable staying with his friends, for now. Undertaker suspected he didn't like to be alone with his thoughts for long, and he went into work with Humphries and Slingby to help out with paperwork until he was fit to reap again.  
  
She looked down at the mention of Ronald. Since his release she hadn't gotten to sleep with him or be with him much. He had promised to protect her from her nightmares, to stay with her, but instead he had left the hospital with his friends. Unable to go with him, she had endured nightmares nearly every night on her own. She chose to hide that fact from her brother and everyone else, including Ronald.  
  
"As far as I am aware he is adjusting. He refused to stay with Lawrence and myself. I suppose it is for the best. I have not gotten to see him much the past week. That is since he left here to stay with his friends. I am here most of my free time anyways and work does not allow us to cross paths easily," she answered as she slowly raised her head; her eyes full of pain as she looked up at he mortician. "I wish he had stayed. I miss him."  
  
Undertaker patted her shoulder. "I'm sure the chap misses you, too. Keep it in mind what happened to you both, love. I imagine he's suffering all sorts of confused feelings right now, but I saw the way he looked at you, and how protective he was of you. Mayhap I could pop in on the way to get treats and check on him…see if I can get a notion of what's goin' on."  
  
The mortician shrugged. "Ronnie might be a flirty lad, but he doesn't strike me as cruel. I doubt he's the sort to seduce a lady and then run out on her. I won't try to push him to do anything, but maybe mention of you will perk his interests and encourage him to talk to you. Hate to see anyone pining for a lover, after what I've been through."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered. Then slowly she rose up on to her tip-toes and pecked the 'old fool' on the cheek. "That would mean so much to me. I have been afraid to call on him, figuring he needed his space. But I cannot deny the loss my heart feels."  
  
Moira stepped back and looked in at Grell, who was fumbling with her sheets. "I should get in there. Dear Grell seems to be tangled up. And you Sir, need to get her shake. Off with you now," she shooed as she smiled back up at him.  
  
Undertaker chuckled. "I'll try to make it quick, love. Just keep my rose company 'till I return."  
  
He left her then, heading down the corridor for the elevators. He put his hat back on before exiting the hospital, and he went straight to Dispatch Headquarters, where he believed he'd find Ronald at this time of day.  

 

* * *

 

-To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Special Message to the readers:**  
>  I am deeply sorry for the delay of this chapter. I know that nearly a year has lapsed since the previous chapter was released. Unfortunately, there was some personal stuff that occurred in both mine and my writing partner's lives. Fortunately, I have been able to return to the project and will post the remaining chapters as quickly as I am able to do so. Thank you to all who have read, "Tea and Crumpets". Your continued support is greatly appreciated. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
> 
> -Dare
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Soundtrack:**  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZv_BmLvUi2TapuXwhyVec-hSrl72aj9z)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/1265279697/playlist/4fpigVqvpLSumA6br1LskB)  
> 


	24. Chapter 24

"Ronnie, someone's here tae see ya," Eric informed the younger blond after poking his head into the office that Knox used to share with his mentor.

Ronald looked up from the paperwork he was going over, or at least the paperwork he had been attempting to work on. He had found it nearly impossible to concentrate as of late.

Ever since their ordeal in Germany, Ronald had been consumed with guilt. He'd been avoiding anyone who wasn't Alan or Eric and that was mainly because for the past two weeks he had been staying at their place. Though he was often quiet around them. Only opening up to Eric when needed. He'd actually been avoiding the one thing he wanted in his life, but because of his guilt, he couldn't seem to work up the courage to talk to her.

Since returning to dispatch he had buried himself in reaps and paperwork, trying not to think of her. Often time reaping on his own, leaving Eric to stay by Alan's side; despite his orders of always working with a partner. Though the minute he sat down to file the necessary paperwork, his mind would always drift back to her.

He missed the way she smelled. The way she called his name. The feel of her body pressed warmly against his own. The ghost of her was gnawing at his fragile state of mind. Who was he kidding though? After what happened in Germany...after what he did to her in Germany, how could she want him to ever touch her again? Then there was the hospital. She'd offered him a place to stay...with her. By her side. Instead he just left. Went home with Eric and Alan.

Still...if there was even the slightest chance.

"Yeah? Who is it?"

Eric stepped aside, and the Undertaker came in with a grin.

"Surprise! Haven't seen you for a week, lad. Thought I'd drop by and let you know your mentor's awake again, and she's doing just fine."

Ronald got up from his chair.

"Grell's awake?" He scratched the back of his head. "I guess I ought to drop in and say hi when I get off work."

He hesitated as a myriad of emotions flickered across his face.

"Is...Moira there?" he asked.

Undertaker nodded. "She's there right now, chap, keeping her company while I'm out. I'm sure she'd like to see you too."

Eric excused himself and closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.

"So…how is she? Moira, I mean," asked Ronald.

Undertaker saw the way his eyes lit up at the mere mention of the lovely ancient, and he smiled knowingly.

"Relieved, like meself. She misses you, though."

"Yeah?" Ronald's smile was a bit nervous. "I…aw, hell…I miss her too. I wanted t' take their offer to come stay with 'em, but…I'm so messed up right now. I don't think I'll be much good to her, and that house…the memories…I'm afraid I might crack if I go back there, to be honest. Don't wanna go home to my flat and be alone, either. That's why I took Alan and Eric up on their offer."

He started to pace, and it was clear he was agitated.

"She mad at me?" He could feel the question hanging in the air, but he desperately needed the answer.

Undertaker approached, and he laid his hands on the distressed young reaper's shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Calm down, Ronnie. Moira isn't angry. A li'l hurt, maybe, but I think she understands. She'd welcome you with open arms if you showed up. She worries about you. It'd be nice if you could just let her know you still care."

Ronald heaved a shuddering breath, and he lowered his eyes.

"More than care. I fucking love her, and that scares me almost as much as my nightmares. I just…I know she doesn't blame me, but I keep thinking of what they made me do t' her, and it eats me up inside."

"They left you no choice," insisted the mortician, "so try and stop doing this to yourself, lad. You were just as violated as her."

Ron's eyes glistened with the threat of tears, and he sniffed. "Yeah, well…I'm just trying to work up the courage to ask her on our first real date. I want to treat her to something nice and have fun, but I don't know how to approach her, after what happened."

"Try starting with 'hi'," suggested Undertaker, "and work your way up from there. Keeping yourself away from her is only hurting the both of you."

Ronald nodded and shut his eyes. "I'll…try. Thanks, old fart. Um…your voice sounds a bit better than it did last time I saw you."

The mortician chuckled. "My vocal chords are patching up. I ought to have my voice back in a few months." He checked his pocket watch. "My, my, look at the time. I'd best get going. I promised my lady a cherry-topped milkshake, and I'd hate to arrive at the shop after they've closed. Just think about stopping by and saying 'hullo' to the ladies. Both of 'em would love to see you."

Ronald nodded. "I will. See ya then, I guess."  

 

* * *

 

Eric took off early to get to the hospital before Undertaker returned. He told his partner where he was going, and Alan was supportive when he told him his reasons. After finding out which room Grell was in, the Scotsman located it and he knocked on the door before poking his head in.

"Grell? How're ya feelin'? Up fer a little visit?"

"Eric!" Grell squealed, seeing the other blond standing there.

Grell turned his head and looked through the glass wall into the hallway, but no one else was there, except for a nurse at the nurse's station.

"Alan didn't come with you?" he asked turning back to Eric as he strode further into the room. "I haven't seen him in a day. How is he?'

Moira avoided the blonds’ gaze as he and Grell greeted one another. She still was on the fence about the man. He had insulted her, yet he had helped in saving her life, and Grell seemed to be ecstatic to see him there. So instead of saying anything, she looked down at her lap and the book that lay there in and kept quiet.

Once Undertaker had left, the Doctor returned and examined the redhead as he said he would; after which Moira resumed her seat next to her granddaughter. Having made sure Grell drank some water, to sooth her parched throat, Grell's voice began to grow stronger and Moira showed her the book she had brought to read to her. They were in the middle of discussing the fable when Eric knocked on the door. Now, Moira sat in uncomfortable silence as he drew closer, her eyes glued to the embossed cover of the book.

"Alan's coverin' fer me so I could come see ya," explained the Scotsman. "He'll be by later on after work though, an' he sends his regards. I uh…Grell, I hope ya dun' mind, but could I have a word wi' Moira outside fer a moment? We'll come righ' back in afterwards—that is, if she'll consent."

He nodded at the ancient, his gaze expressing regret and apology.

Moira looked up, surprised at the mention of her name. He wanted to speak with her, privately? She simply nodded and replied, "Alright." While Grell simply looked between the two; unaware of what had happened at the facility.

"Grell I won't be a moment, and we shall be just outside. I won't leave your sight, my dear," Moira promised as she stood and sat the book down on the bedside table once more. Gently she squeezed the redhead's hand and smiled. "Be right back, love."

Cautiously the ancient stepped around the blond, eyeing him as she passed him and exited Grell's room. She stopped and faced Eric when they were far away from the door, and where Grell would no longer be able to hear them as they spoke to one another.

"What would you like to speak to me about, Mister Slingby?"

Eric regarded the beautiful woman before him with warily hesitant eyes. "I owe ye an apology," he said frankly, with a sigh. "When I showed up wi' tha boss an' mah partner, I dinnae have a clue what was really happenin' in tha' place. When Ronnie made tha' remark about rape, I jumped tae conclusions I shouldn't have."

He sighed and combed his fingers through his wavy, leonine hair, sticking his free hand into his pocket as he leaned against the wall. He shrugged and looked off absently. "Ronnie's like a little brother tae me. I care 'bout tha kid, an' so does Alan. It was sae confusing wi' everything tha' was happening, I barely had time ta think. It's no excuse fer tha way I acted, but I still hope ye'll fergive me. He explained everythin' tha' went on tae us, tha night we brought him home."

He looked into her eyes again and he smiled crookedly.

"Kid's madly in love with ya. He talks 'bout yeh all tha time, an' I can honestly say this is tha first time I've ever seen Knox flustered o'er a lady. I really hope we can get along an' put my stupidity behind us. I jus' want tae see tha lad happy again…an' from where I'm standin', he'd be happiest wi' you, Lady Moira."

Moira glanced down, her cheeks warming and she new they were red with embarrassment. How this youngling had turned her into such a young acting filly, she would never know. But hearing that Ronald couldn't stop talking about her...filled her heart with new hope.

"He speaks of me?" she asked raising her head to look at the blond, but then shook her head and swallowed. "Never you mind that, Mister Slingby. Yes, I accept your apology. And yes, I would love nothing more than to put what once was done, in the past. I would very much like to move on from those events and start over. For all of ours sake."

She smiled brightly and held her hand out to him. "Is é mo ainm Moira Anderson. Tá áthas orm bualadh leat."

He smiled in return and he took her hand to raise it to his lips, planting a kiss atop it. "Pleased tae meet yeh, Miss Moira. Éirinn go Brách. Eric Slingby, at yer service."

He favored her with a rogue-ish smirk and a wink. "Cannae believe I snapped at a fellow Celt. Ronald's got great taste in women."

"It is quite alright, Mister Slingby. In that place...and with Ronald...well I don't fault your for what happened," she stumbled over her words.

Moira closed her eyes and took a deep breath before speaking again, "I love Ronald. I would never hurt him on purpose. They told me they drugged him. They knew he would not...willingly. I cried. They were controlling the demon and if I had refused..."

Tears gathered in her eyes and so she spun away from the blond, covering her face with her hands. A small sob escaped her, despite her best effort to fight the urge to cry.

"I love him," she confessed again as more sobs came. "I'm an ancient and they hurt him. I couldn't do anything to stop them. They saw I had fallen in love with him and they exploited me. Please forgive me?"

Helpless to think of anything else to do, Eric gently drew her into a comforting embrace. "It wasnae yer fault. Ronnie…told me all about it, after a couple days. He couldn't say it tae a stranger, I guess, an' therapy wasnae helpin' him much wi' tha' part. Shh, it's a'right."

He stroked her hair and rocked her a little. "Ronnie loves ya. He does. An' yer no' tha one tha' hurt him…they did. Those beasts raped th' both of ya, an' if I'd known wha' really happened, I'd have ne'er opened mah big mouth an' said such harsh things."

He pulled back to look down at her. "He needs yeh, and ya need him, too, from wha' I'm seein'. Wish I could change wha' happened, but I can at least assure ya he's no' forgotten yeh."

"Thank you," she replied.

Grell sat watching the exchange through the glass paneled wall and was confused by what he saw. Why was Moira crying? And why was Eric offering her comfort? He couldn't hear a thing they said to one another and he had no idea what in the world was happening. He desperately wanted to leap from the bed and demand to know what was going on, but he couldn't, and so he sat there watching and worrying about the scene that was unfolding outside his hospital room.

At that moment Moira just happened to look up. Her eyes meeting her grandchild's confused expression. She had forgotten they were in plain sight.

Moira stepped back and looked up at Eric.

"Grell, she's watching. She doesn't know about Ronald and myself. She was taken before Ronald and I...she must be wondering why you were embracing me."

He flushed a little and backed off. "Oh…erm…sorry 'bout tha'. I keep forgetting he's been ou' of it all this time. I dinnae mean tae cause more strain."

He sighed and glanced through the window, offering an encouraging smile to the redhead.

"Maybe I ought tae say mah goodbyes an' get back tae work. Seems like a matter tae be discussed between family."

"Stay as long as you like, Mister Slingby. I am sure Grell would like the company. She doesn't seem to want to be alone and I cannot blame her. At least a minute or so, before you say goodbye. Khro...I mean Undertaker will be back shortly, he ran to get Grell a shake," she smiled, taking his arm and began to lead him back to the room. "Just for a moment."

"Right," agreed Eric. He smiled at Grell as they entered, and he went to her bedside. "Now, where were we? Everythin' working okay?"

He reached out to tickle the redhead's foot, and he huffed a laugh when it immediately retreated under the covers with a jerk. "Sorry…couldn't help m'self."

Grell glared at the blond, "Don't do that, that tickles. I know my feet are cute and all, but they are not for everyone to play with. Especially you, Slingby. You have Alan's feet to play with."

In typical childish fashion, Grell stuck his tongue out at the blond and then wiggled further up in his bed. He then looked at Eric, regally, and finally answered the blond's inquiry. "To answer your question, Eric...yes it would seem I am nearly fully healed and doing quite well. I will admit, I woke up startled by the fact there was a tube stuffed down my throat, but that was quickly removed and I feel much better. I am not to fond of things being forced down my throat. However, there are exceptions."

Grell averted his gaze, his cheeks pinking.

"Ahem..." he cleared his throat and peered back up at his friend, "I didn't realize that was you in Germany. I am afraid the whole thing is rather a blur for me."

Eric covered his mouth and tried to stifle his laughter. "Put yer foot in yer mouth there, did ya? Dun worry, I'll no' spread gossip."

He sobered a bit and looked down, shuffling his feet a bit in a boyish manner.

"I'm really sorry we didnae come sooner, Grell. Alan an' I knew somethin' wasnae right, but we could have pushed harder. Probably should have. All tha' bloody corporate tape…should've done more tae cut through it as soon as we realized somethin' was odd."

"Not as if anyone believed me all these years anyways. I'm the loon, remember?" Grell replied, looking down at his lap, his fingers curling around his bed sheets. "What is done, is done. Not your fault. Maybe Will's. He never wanted to hear what happened in the first place. Still, I suppose I can't blame him either."

Eric frowned. "I sure as hell can, even if ya won't. We told tha bloody man somethin' was crooked, but he blew us off. An' Grell…jus' fer tha record…I'm sorry I wasnae more supportive. Sorry we all jus' made assumptions. I'd like tae pretend I dinnae think ya were cracked, but it'd taste a lie. We all owe yeh an apology. Spears isn't tha only one. Alan's only tha only one tha' never accepted tha prognosis, an' he's tha one tha' wanted it investigated. Wish I'd have listened more closely to him, an' I wish th' boss had taken it more seriously."

The Scotsman sighed and took one of Grell's hands. "Who th' hell am I kidding? It's easy tae throw Spears under the bus, but tha rest of us are jus' as guilty as he is…'cept fer Ronnie. He's th' only one tha' came tae yer rescue of all o' us."

Grell turned his head and looked at Eric's hand as it held his own.

"No." He shook his head. "The one truly one to blame is myself. Everyone one else was doing their jobs and I ran off for three years. You all had the right to believe the doc...doc...what was said about me."

"Grell love, don't say such things," Moira softly spoke as she sat down on the hospital bed; opposite the side Eric stood.

Lifting his eyes, Grell stared back at her. Instead of arguing with her he simply changed the subject. "Why was Moira crying in the Hallway, Eric? Why were you hugging her?"

Eric glanced uncomfortably at the woman in question. "It's been a rough time on all of ya, Grell. I dun' think it's really my place tae discuss it, honestly. The lady needed comfort an' I gave it tae her."

He patted Grell's hand before turning and taking one of Moira's hands, placing a brief kiss on the top of it. "I ought tae get goin', now. Alan's coverin' fer me, but I cannae stay away from tha office fer too long, an' I think tha two of ye have some things tae discuss tha' aren't my affair. Call us if ya need anything, aye?"

"Yes, Eric is right. I do have some things to discuss with you, Grell. And Mister Slingby...well he was just being kind," Moira spoke up uncomfortably. She hadn't expected the redhead to be so abrasive and so sudden. She looked to the blond and smiled. "He was just being a friend is all."

Grell looked between the two. He was not buying it, something was up.

"Eric are you...have you two... I mean I was away for sometime. Did something happen between..." Grell's cheeks reddened as he became flustered and then he snapped. "Eric Slingby are you cheating on Al?!"

Turning to the ancient, Grell pointed at Moira. "And what about Ronald?! He is infatuated with you, you know!"

"Ronald?!" Moira gasped and looked up at the Scot. She could not help herself, could not contain the laughter that rose within her. Desperately she covered her mouth with one hand and began to chuckle behind it. "Oh dear!"

Eric took a step back, holding out his hands. "Wha'? No! Nothin's happened between Lady Moira an' me. I was jus' tryin' tae comfort her."

He flushed, understanding why Grell might jump to such a conclusion. Before Alan, he had a bit of a reputation as a player, and he dated both men and women. "I havenae looked at ano'er soul since Al an' I got together. Ya know tha', Grell."

"But why would you need comforting?" Grell asked his grandmother, confused. "Is it because of me or is there something else going on?"

Moira's laughter faded. She took the redhead's hands into her own and softly replied, "There was a misunderstanding in Germany, love. Mister Slingby met me for the first time under a slightly...well he got a wrong first impression of me and wanted to apologize. You need not worry, my child. We have made our peace and he has offered me friendship. I promise to explain everything to you, Grell. But we aught not hold the man up any longer. I can assure you, he has not cheated on his partner with me." Sheepishly Grell looked up to his friend and apologized. "I'm sorry Eric. I shouldn't have accused you of cheating. I know better than that. Besides, if you ever did cheat, Alan would do far more harm to you than I ever could."

The Scotsman chuckled and scratched his chin. "Cannae argue wi' tha'. It's a'right, Grell. Ye've been through an ordeal an' ya were out of it fer a while. No wonder yer confused."

He glanced at his watch and he sighed. "I'd best head back, now. I'm sure Lady Moira can clear some stuff up fer ya. Take care, ladies. Give us a call if ya need anything."

"Will do," Moira replied with a smile as she turned back to Eric. She still held onto Grell's hands, but her grip eased a little as she fare-welled the Scot. "Take care, Mister Slingby."

"Thank you for visiting, Eric. Bring Alan next time," Grell added.

Both, Moira and Grell, sat silently as they watched the blond exit the room and walk down the hall, and out of the ICU wing. It was then that Grell finally asked, "What do you need to speak to me about?"

Moira leaned forward bringing Grell's hands to her to lips and then kissed her pale, bare knuckles. Her mind was full of fears and doubts, but after speaking with Eric, hope nestled back into her heart. She raised her eyes to look her grandchild in the face and giving a tiny nod, she began to speak.

"I am not quite sure where to exactly began, my dear, but I suppose I should start with a declaration." She paused for a moment, watching as Grell's face twisted into puzzlement. "While you were being held and Khronos slept, the rest of us were trying to devise a plan to rescue you. During those weeks, Ronald and I...we came to realize we felt something for one other."

Grell began to giggle. He had already known that the young blond was smitten with the ravishing brunette, so her confession had not been to surprising. He had also seen the way she glanced back at him in return and suspected there might be something blooming between them.

"Tell me something I was not already aware of. I saw how you two looked at each other and Ronald may have confessed to me in the carriage...before I was taken, that he was quite enamoured with you."

Moira blushed. "He never said a word about talking to you first, but I am afraid there is something dire I must tell you."

"What Moira?" asked the redhead, his eyes narrowing in on her face in concern. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Aye," Moira replied, "Eric apologized, because when he found Ronald and I in Germany..."

Shaking her head, Moira released the redhead's hands and stood up. She began to pace nervously.

Grell's eyes followed her as she stood, his lips parting slightly. He watched her critically as she moved about the room. Moira was on edge, but why?

"What happened in Germany, Moira?"

Moira froze and looked down at Grell, but no sound passed her lips, just a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Slowly it streamed down her cheek.

"He found...he found Ronald and I in compromising situation," she blurted. "We were captured and when he, Mister Slingby found us, Ronald was not in his right mind. Based on what Ronald said, Mister Slingby accused me of rape."

"What?" Grell exclaimed. He reached out and grabbed Moira's hand as she stood trembling next to him. "What in the Hell would make him think such a ridiculous thing?"

"Because in some roundabout way it is true," Moira wept. "I was given a choice. I took the lesser of the two evils and I still have not been completely honest with Ronald over the whole incident."

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Moira then placed her free hand over her mid section and softly began to explain. "They wanted to impregnate me and now I might be with child. I won't know for a few more weeks. They drugged Ronald...to make him perform against his will. I...they threatened me. I had no choice but to go through with it."

"Then you did nothing wrong, love. Ronald, I am sure understands that. He is a twit when it comes to fighting, but not when it comes to girls. The boy is a pro when it comes to the opposite sex and he doesn't give up if he wants something bad enough. And he wants you. That is for certain. He won't abandon you."

Moira shook her head again and whispered, "He is not doing so well and I kept something from him in Germany. I needed him not to refuse me that day. I knew he was drugged, but I didn't tell him that are chances of being parents had been increased."

Grell looked at her confused; he didn't understand what she was saying.

"Moira, sweetie, you aren't making any sense, love."

Closing her eyes, Moira tried to still her racing heart. She squeezed Grell's hand and let the words drift from her. "Hypnos and Thanatos were working on a drug, an enhancement drug, apparently. It was based off our own creation. They hoped to use it to make more pure-blood reapers. I know not why, but it is a drug to help a reaper get pregnant. I was to be their guinea pig."

"Moira, no!" Grell gasped. But as he was about to say more a certain black and silver blur appeared from the corner of his eye, preventing him from asking further questions.

Moira too, saw the familiar figure of the Undertaker as he moved down the hall heading straight for them and turned away to wipe the remnants of tears from her eyes.

"Knock knock," called out the mortician as he nudged the door open with his knee and stepped in. Both his hands were full with shakes, so he couldn't make use of them for a formal knock. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything crucial, ladies. I brought my rose her cherry-topped shake, as requested."

He approached Grell with a smile and handed over the treat. He then offered the second one he held to Moira with a shrug. "It was a two-for-one sale. Thought you might like the second, prissy Missy."

He noticed the lingering traces of tears in her eyes and his smile faltered a bit. Still holding out the second shake in offering, he cocked his head in his typical, wolf-like quizzical manner. He knew she missed Ronald terribly, but given everything that had occurred, there was no telling what might be responsible for that flash of angst he'd detected just before she covered it. "Everything all right, love?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you," Moira smiled, accepting the second shake. "How very kind of you. Grell and I were just chit-chatting and Mister Slingby stopped by for a quick visit."

But she could see the questions in his eyes and she knew he saw more beneath the surface. He had always been a perceptive one and so she resumed her seat along Grell's bed side. Moira then took a sip of her milkshake before she turned her smile on Grell and added, "There is nothing the matter old friend. I am just happy that my grandchild is awake and amongst us once more."

Grell's right brow rose, he knew that was not the case, but he would not out the brunette. If she did not want Khronos to know what she had shared with him, he would keep quiet and gain his lover's attention away from her.

"Love, what took you so long? I was beginning to think I would never see my milkshake," he inquired looking up at the mortician with a pout.

"Sorry, m'dear," answered the mortician a bit sheepishly. "I got sidetracked on the way, and then I had to ask around for a good place to find a shake. Didn't mean to keep you waiting so—"

As he was finishing his sentence, the door opened to admit Ronald Knox. Undertaker stopped talking and he grinned at the young man, who was stepping in with an uncertain expression on his face and a small bouquet of roses in each hand. In the left one he held red roses, and in the right he held white ones.

"Hmm, think I'd best step outside again for a minute," reasoned the Undertaker.

"Er…ya don't have to," Ronald protested, his eyes flicking to Moira as though he couldn't help it.

The ancient bent over to kiss Grell on the top of the head, and then he headed for the door and whispered to Ronald in passing. "You'll do fine, lad. Just say what you feel."

With that said, he left the three of them alone in the hospital room.

 

* * *

 

"Ronnie..." Moira whispered as she wrapped her arms around the blond's neck. "I have missed you so much. I am so glad to see you...that you came."

Beneath a willow tree, in the park just outside the London Grim Reaper Hospital, Moira clung to the Junior officer. She had been taken by surprise when Ronald appeared in the doorway of Grell's hospital room. She had wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him then, but his arms had been full of bouquets for herself and Grell. And though Undertaker had excused himself, so that they could talk, Moira thought it would be best if they, Ronald and herself, stepped outside to have a more private discussion. After all it had been a week since last they saw of each other and she desperately needed to hold him, to touch him, to know he was truly there standing before her. She knew he deserved the full truth of what happened in Germany, but her heart ached with the thought he might turn from her if he knew.

Ronald held her close, staring into her lovely eyes. If he'd had any doubts about his decision to come and see her, they were now laid to rest.

"I was scared ya wouldn't want to see me," he admitted. "Sorry I haven't been in touch, gorgeous. I've…I've had to work out a few things in my head. I'm just now starting t' feel more like myself again, and I needed that to happen. You deserve better than a jumpy, scared little boy that cringes at shadows, Moira."

He swallowed and he caressed her face with his fingertips. "Every night I've dreamt of you, ya know. Couldn't get you out of my head. I wished you were in my arms."

He smirked and lowered his gaze. "Funny, huh? I'm the playboy of Dispatch and one night with you turned my whole world upside-down. I haven't even looked at another bird since then."Realizing she might find his slang offensive, he quickly revised his choice of words. "Uh, I mean lady. Haven't looked at another one, since you."

Moira chuckled and kissed him silent, her arms enclosing tighter around his waist as she pressed her body as close to his as reaperly possible. She never wanted to let him go ever again, but slowly she released his captive lips and whispered, "I was afraid you'd never want to touch me again after what happened. And I too have dreamt of you every night since you left my arms and went to stay with Mister Slingby and Mister Humphries."

Her eyes began to search his as she stood only a breath away from him. How was she going to tell him?

"Ronnie, I h-have t-to tell you something," she choked. "Or-or perhaps, ask you something."

He frowned and traced her lips with his fingertips. "What is it, beautiful?"

He wondered if he'd done or said something he didn't recall. After all, Wundt had fucked with his cinematic records pretty hardcore. The clinic had repaired a lot of the damage, but he still got snatches of memories from strangers. Just the other night he'd woken up yelling some guy's name, and he had no clue who he was.

"Whatever it is," Ronald said carefully, "I'm here for you. If you can't believe anything else, believe that."

She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, concentrating on the way his fingertips felt as they caressed her lips, but her heart lurched knowing what had been done to him. How he had been used and lied to. His records spliced and played with. Her own was tampered with as well, but the lingering effects had worn off quickly in Germany.

"Come, sit with me,” Moira requested as she slid her hands down his arms and took his hands into her own. Slowly she began to back up until she was within a foot of the Willow's trunk.

"Sit, my love," She said as she took a seat, her back pressed against the rough bark.

Ronald sat down beside her on the gnarled roots, holding her hands fast in his. "Must be pretty serious," he mumbled. "Baby, are you all right?"

He ordinarily wouldn't use a pet name like "baby" on such a woman, but his concern was growing and with it, his tact was getting compromised.

Moira rested her head against his shoulder and watched how he played with her fingers. Soon she would know if they were to be expecting or not. He said he would remain with her, if she conceived, but had he forgotten that promise? Would he be angry with her for withholding the drug information? She didn't know the answers yet, of course.

Taking a deep breath she asked, "Ronald, if it turns out that I am pregnant, will you still want the baby?"

It took a moment for the young man to comprehend what she was saying. He'd said that to her, he recalled—though the memory was fuzzy. Gods, could he be…a father? He hadn't lived this life for very long at all. Most of his associates still thought of him as a baby himself. He looked at her, and he found that even as terrifying as the thought of unexpected parenthood was for him, he couldn't abandon her.

"I wouldn't want ya to…get rid of it," he said softly, "and I wouldn't abandon you. I might have said it under fucked up circumstances, Moira, but…I meant it."

He rubbed her chilled hands in his, and he gave her a rueful little smirk. "I think maybe somewhere down the line, I might have wanted t' try for one. Eventually. Never thought of myself as Dad material before, but I've been thinking all sorts of things that aren't like me, since meeting you. Um, how soon do ya think you'll know? I'm pretty dim on things like this."

"It is only been two weeks. Most likely we will need to wait another week or so," She replied keeping her eyes focused on their hands. "I'm scared, Ronnie. I haven't been a mother in a really long time. And what Thanatos and Hypnos did...I believe I am."

A tiny shiver worked its way up her spine; causing her to grow colder. She scooted closer to him in hopes of drawing more of his body heat to her. Despite the gentle breeze that passed all around them, it was not the weather that was inflicting her, but her own fears. However, hearing him say he would still honor the promise he made her, gave her even greater hope that he would not turn from her. Still, she was finding it difficult to find the courage to tell him and she began to wonder if she could tell him the whole truth. Out of nervousness she paused and decided to wait. She wanted to see how he would reply to what she had already said.

"What exactly did he do?" queried Ronald with a frown. "He didn't…he didn't touch you, did he?"

She shook her head no as she lifted it from his shoulder. "No, but before they...before they brought me to you, they...they took me to another room."

Once more she took another deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. It was now or never.

"I was a guinea pig. They knew I had a greater chance of getting pregnant, still they wanted to test something...something they concocted. It was a new drug. I could do nothing. They injected me before I knew what was happening," she explained, then paused. Turning to him, she reached up, touched his cheek and searched his eyes. "Ronald, the drug is suppose to make a reaper three times more fertile."

He scratched the back of his head, at a loss for what to do. "Wow…three times, eh? That's…a lot."

Suddenly it occurred to him that this wasn't just a slim chance. More than likely, he was going to be a father. It was even more terrifying to him than his feelings for Moira had been…even more terrifying than the things he'd endured at the hands of the mad ancients. He stood up abruptly and paced in a circle, trying to work things out in his head. He combed his fingers through his hair and he looked down at her frightened, beautiful face. His expression softened and he took his seat beside her again, reaching out to take her hands. As scary as this was for him, it must be even worse for her.

"Hey, it'll be all right. Rare as it is, there are other reaper parents out there. There's baby books and stuff we could pick up. I know a couple of ladies in Dispatch that are mothers, too. I could maybe ask them for some advice. I know it's been a long time for ya, but you've done this before, too. Like I said before, I don't know what sort of father I'd be, but I'm at least gonna try. I just…" He sighed and looked away. "I just wish it could have happened differently. Maybe in a nice honeymoon suite, overlooking the ocean."

He blinked. He'd really meant that. Whether it was because of what happened to him or because he'd just fallen so head-over-heels for this woman, he had no trouble imagining himself tying the knot with Moira. He looked at her again, a bit warily.

_~Don't rush it, Knox. You've only been with her for a couple of months, and you've both been through Hell. 'Sides, if ya propose to her now, it'll look like you're only doing it 'cause ya might have knocked her up.~_

It was interesting how logical his mind could be at times, given how seldom he listened to it and acted on impulse. Most people would never guess that Ronald Knox had such introspective capabilities. He didn't feel like a fledgling anymore, though. His experiences since this all began with Grell had forced him to grow up fast and start behaving more like an adult. The young reaper sighed and stared down at the slender hands clasped in his.

"I know I'm a youngin, Moira. I know to someone like you, I'm not much more than a pup. I've got a long way t' go before I'm the sort of man you should have at your side, but I'm willing to try. Guess I'll have to stop partying so much on the weekends and start researching things that decent men do when they've got a family on the way."

He smirked at her playfully. "Look at that...you tamed 'Foxy Knoxie'. Didn't think that was possible."

Slowly her pensive expression softened and a tiny smile graced her lips. Her brows were still slightly scrunched together, but she raised her eyes and stared back at his. He was willing to give up everything he was use to, to be there for her. Inside her heart began to thump with glee and so she reached up, cupped his cheek, leaned forward and pressed her lips tenderly to his own.

"Ronnie," she whispered, then kissed him again. Her eyes drifting closed, she melted into his arms as they encircled her small waist. She loved him beyond measure, beyond anything she had ever known.

He deepened the kiss and pulled her closer, his lips and tongue caressing hers with loving attention. It just felt right…and perfect. He knew that no matter how scared he was by the prospect of fatherhood, he could never let her go. This woman was everything he wanted, everything he'd fantasized about in life but never knew he could truly have. His passion grew, but he resisted the temptation to touch her in any overtly erogenous way. It would take some time for them to put aside what had happened to them and comfortably explore their relationship further.

"Moira," he sighed against her lips, his hands stroking the small of her back. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest, and his breath quickened. His body recalled what it was like to be inside of her, and he deliberately focused on the memory of their consensual encounter, shutting out what he recalled of their coupling in the asylum.

"I want to give you what ya deserve." He kissed his way along her jaw to her neck, reaching up with one hand to brush her soft, dark hair aside. "Want t' treat you like the goddess you are."

And that meant no groping. He stopped his other hand from slipping lower over her derriere, despite his increasing need for her. The next time they got busy—whenever that might be—he wanted it to be special and romantic. It wouldn't change or erase what had happened to them, but it would give them a much better experience to recall.

"I'm no goddess, Ronald. Just a woman in love," Moira breathed against his ear as she tilted her head slightly, giving him more access to her delicate, soft neck. "I want to be with you...too."

The tips of her fingers gently massaged the back of his head each time his lips pressed against her flesh. If only they were somewhere more private, but under a tree just outside the hospital. Where anyone could happen upon them was out of the question. Still her body was humming with need. She could bear not another night away from him.

"Stay with me tonight, don't leave me to suffer alone in my bed," she pleaded.

"I will," he promised between kisses. "It's been Hell, being away from you."

His hand finally slid down to cup her bottom, and he shifted a little on his seat to try and relieve some of the pressure in his pants. "I'm really tryin' to be a gentleman," he murmured. "It's not easy, though. Don't want to rush anything or make ya feel pressured."

Moira began to giggle, "Ronnie, if we weren't under a tree right now, you'd be on your back."

"Promise?" He grinned and winked at her. "Well, ya know I won't object if you decide to make good on that tonight."

"I promise to make love to you every night from this moment on, so long as you never spend another night away from me," Moira vowed as she looked up into his eyes, drinking in the way he was looking back her.

"I love you, Ronald," she confessed, softly. And then desperately she captured his lips and passionately kissed him. Demonstrating just how much she needed to feel him again, inside of her aching body.

Ronald responded to the kiss with immediate enthusiasm, relieved to know that the ordeal they'd suffered through had not cooled her passion for him. He was worried that she would need a lot more time, but it wasn't the same as a stranger forcing themselves on them. They had been compelled to do the act, true, but the one thing that made it bearable was the fact that it had been with each other, rather than someone else.

His desire spiked again and he groaned softly, wishing he had someplace private to carry her off to and give them both the relief they needed. That wouldn't be fair, though. He'd promised to give her a special night to remember...a night that wasn't rushed, forced or in some sleazy or creepy environment. He was determined to romance her for a change, so he quelled his lust and resisted his baser urges.

It occurred to him that he might need to bring up the subject of protection. They still didn't know if her fears had come true, and if they hadn't, then having sex without any form of birth control was a good way to make it more likely. He sighed and reluctantly broke the kiss, cupping her face and gazing into her eyes. Damn, he loved her...and he didn't want to screw up and say the wrong thing. "Moira, I think maybe we should make a stop somewhere and pick something up to make sure we uh...don't add to the chance you might be...er...I mean, I meant what I said earlier. I was sincere about being there for you and trying to be a dad if I got you pregnant, but there's a chance I didn't. I mean if you already are we aren't risking anything by going au natural, but if you're not, well, I'm just saying we might have a chance to decide for ourselves when and if we have a kid together, instead of risking an oops. I'm not saying I wouldn't want to try some day if you aren't...I just mean...ah, hell...I don't even know if this makes any sense..."

He trailed off, flustered.

Moira chuckled, she loved seeing Ronald flustered. Giving a little nod she reached up and touched his cheek. "That makes perfect sense, my love. If I can avoid it, I would prefer it. Our relationship is new and I would like some time alone with you, before becoming a mother again."

She bit her bottom lip and glanced down for a second then looked back up at him and whispered, "That is unless I already am going to be a mother."

He took her hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "If you are, you are. I dunno how soon we'll be able to tell, but just remember you won't be alone."

He released her hands and he put an arm around her to draw her close again. "So, how about we go by Eric and Alan's so I can pack my things. Then I'll call and let them know where I'm going, and we can be on our way so I can get settled. Er...he doesn't mind, does he? Your brother, I mean."

It occurred to him that Father Anderson might not be too keen on him shacking up with his sister, even if they were expecting a rugrat. Guys could be protective of their female siblings sometimes—even the mellow ones like Anderson.

She rested her head back against his shoulder again as she turned and settled into his arms; her back pressed agaainst his chest. She let out another little chuckle and placed her hands over his, at her waist.

"My brother couldn't careless. He likes you, you know? He also loves seeing me happy and if that means you in my bed, then so be it. He will not interfere with us. However..." she sat up abruptly and turned to face the blond. Her face growing somewhat severe, "if he tries anything or says anything-anything at all...I'll reap him from here to China."

Ronald smiled. "I believe ya. Hope Pops has the sense not to cross you. I'd hate to see the old guy get his arse handed to him." He got to his feet and he helped her to hers. "Well, let's go grab my stuff so we can get it to his place. I'd like t' take you to dinner afterwards. We're long overdue for a real date, beautiful."

Moira's lips curved into an even bigger smile as she stepped into his arms and replied, "Aye. There is no need to go back up. I told Grell I might not return for a while. She''ll know I ran off with you. So yes, lets get your stuff and we can talk further over a quiet dinner. Just the two of us."

"That sounds like a plan to me."

He offered her his arm, excited to finally try and put some of the tragedy behind them—even though he was inwardly scared shitless at the thought of being a daddy. There was no help for it though. What was done was done and none of it was her fault. He couldn't give her up now anyway, whether she was with child or not. That was the beauty of being Ronald Knox, though. He might be a little fucked in the head for now, but he could bounce back better than most. He'd do it this time too, eventually; not just for Moira, but for Grell, too.

_~Holy tamales, is this what it feels like to have a family?~_

He was fond of a few of his coworkers, but he'd become more attached than he realized to Grell, that crazy old mortician, Anderson and of course, Moira. As the two of them left together to collect his things, he thought about what it would be like to help raise a baby with her and with the gut certainty that they could count on Lawrence and the others to assist, it became a less frightening notion to him.

 

* * *

 

-To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!


End file.
